Chris
by wordsandpages
Summary: Who was Chris Rodriguez before Clarisse found him? His version of accounts narrated by Chris, hopefully giving some insight into the briefly-mentioned yet strangely complex characters from Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
1. Chapter 1

It seems incredibly unfair that I can't get a good night's sleep without some snoring, drooling, stinking unclaimed kid sticking his elbow in places that _hurt_ when they are elbowed. I mean, why? Why not build an extension to this gods-forsaken cabin? Why not separate the unclaimed kids from the Hermes kids? Why? Why? _Why?_

My name is Chris Rodriguez, I'm thirteen years old and I need a break. My mother was wrong. This camp – Camp Half-Blood – isn't making me better. The kids here complain about their lives outside of camp: bullies, exams, therapists who just don't get it and how everything is better here. It's not the same for me. At least at home, I had my mom. I had friends who were good friends and friends I had made myself – not kids who I forced to live with and sleep with and eat with; they're not my family. At home, if I was in a bad mood, my mother would say "Ay, _mi hijo_, go to bed; it'll all be better in the morning," except here, I go to bed and wake up next to the same stinking pig and nothing is better.

The most ironic thing is that this was supposed to be my break. A break from the tiny ghetto classrooms where the teachers printed out their diplomas from the internet and taught us about Abe Lincoln, the first president of the USA; a break from _chilli con carne _that my mother made on the last Sunday of every month in a huge pot, then poured into empty ice-creams tubs to freeze, defrost and eat throughout the month; a break from Jacinto and Mark and their cigarettes that mom caught me with. This was supposed to be the better life. But tell me, what kind of better life leads you to waking up with a crick in your neck every morning from sleeping in a hammock and waiting forever to take a shower after these kids who aren't even your family?

Recently, the pain has been fresh, like a reopened wound. Last week we get some scrawny kid, Percy Jackson, who supposedly single-handedly fought off a Minotaur. _Welcome to hell, kid,_ I'd thought, _they're going to eat you alive._ But no. He got claimed – by Poseidon no less! And now he's got his own bunk, his own bed, his own freaking table to eat at! And you tell me: is that fair? Is it fair that this kid, this white kid with his middle-class accent and sneakers more expensive than what I could ever have gets all this special treatment just because his dad is one of the Big Three? Is it fair that a kid like me who slept on the living room couch, listening to the lullaby of cop-car sirens, and who ate chilli for every day of his pathetic life get to stay in _this_ cabin? How's that for cosmic justice?

Wow, Hermes, daddy, thanks a whole lot. Thanks for being there for me.

"Hey, Carl?" the smelly kid who has his elbow in my gut whispers.

"It's Chris."

"Hey, Chris? Do you think you could shift? You're hurting my elbow?"

That's it. I'm done with this place. I'm going to burn it to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up the next morning to Luke Castellan, our cabin leader, shouting for us to rise and shine. I like Luke. Out of all the kids in this bunk, I think Luke is the only other guy who understands that this godly life isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Looking at him, looking past that nasty scar on his face, you wouldn't think he was anything but a happy camper. But I know better. When you're used practising a happy face in front of the mirror, you quickly learn to tell the difference between a genuine smile and a fake one.

Last summer, my first summer here after I had accidentally teleported from my physics class to Benny's Ice-Cream Parlour, I hadn't slept for my first twenty-six days at camp. I didn't want to be whispered about – there was plenty of that already in the cramped Hermes cabin – so I'd wait until everyone was asleep or pretending to be before sneaking out. It was something that I was good at, actually. My friends Jacinto and Mark, from home, weren't exactly the kind of guys who taught the ways to being a good, moral citizen. My mother wasn't especially fond of them but they were two guys who were older than me and still willing to stick their necks out for a kid that shouldn't have been their business. From them, I learned how to pick a lock using my mom's hairpins and even the plastic library card my school gave me. I learned how to tip the cigarette just-so out the window so when my mother came home, she wouldn't smell the smoke on me. And, I learned how to sneak in and out so quietly that even the guard dogs in the rich people's houses didn't stir.

Before leaving home for camp, my mother explained to me that my rebellious streak and sneaky abilities were because my father was Hermes. I had been so excited then. I remember feeling like my heart was going to crawl out of my throat from excitement because I had thought that my father would be there – _finally _– to greet me. I don't like to think about that too much. I like to think my talents are mine, not inherited genes from an absent god who never once came to say hello. Am I really asking for too much? I would've been happy with a simple hello, just once.

Anyway, one night it was cold. It was strange because the camp had special temperature controls which stopped it from getting too cold but that night, I shivered under my fleece. I sat on the top front step of the cabin and looked at the stars. In ghetto, you could hardly ever see the stars. The sky was blocked out my clotheslines criss-crossing over head like elaborate mazes, and the bright lights and cars' smoke meant the sky was almost always a strange shade of smoky mustard yellow. Here, if I was ever forced to say what my favourite thing was about the camp, I would say the stars. I didn't know the constellations and I could have found out but I preferred making my own constellations. A sword. Greek fire. Warriors.

"Chilly out here," said a voice from behind me. It was Luke; I'd listened to his voice enough times a day to know who it was without even turning around.

He sat down next to me. I saw that he was barefoot and he shivered next to me. I didn't say anything back.

"Smoker?" He asked. I didn't have a cigarette in my hands – obviously they weren't available in Camp – but I looked down to see that my hand had folded itself into the shape it would make if I had been holding a cigarette. "How old are you, kid? Twelve?" He whistled when I nodded.

After a while he asked, "You talking to him?"

I pretended to not know what he meant. "God?" I asked, "I don't believe in God. God wouldn't have made me eat chilli for every day of my life."

Luke laughed the laugh of someone who doesn't think the joke is especially funny but is plenty sad. "Not _the _God, _a_ god. Don't mess around with me, kid. Don't make me say his name. Don't make me call him dad."

That was the first time I properly looked at him, I think. In the silver moonlight, I could see pale skin of his scar, a stark contrast against the sun-tanned skin of his face. It made him look older, colder. I knew that he'd got it from his first quest, a quest that his dad had sent him on. _If I had a dad like that, I'd resent him too, _I thought. It was only after I'd thought it that I realised that I did have a dad like that. Exactly like that.

"He doesn't talk to you either?" I asked him.

Luke laughed again, even sadder than before, and I knew he got the silent treatment from Hermes as well. Maybe that should have made me feel better, knowing that Hermes didn't talk to his most powerful son in Camp either, but it didn't. It made feel worse to know that we shared this dad that didn't talk to Luke even after sending him out on a dangerous quest that messed up his face forever. I wondered if he'd ever even gotten and apology.

"Daddy dear is busy, Chris," Luke sighed heavily. He didn't sound angry, really; he sounded tired. "He was two million parcels to deliver, a thousand locks to pick and at least a dozen more unloved children to sire. You see, the gods don't have time for us. They don't care about kids, they care about having a good time. They like fooling around, having fun. They're lazy, not too big on responsibility. Just look back at history, kid: wars, natural disasters, famines – that's not the work of responsible gods. The secret is that they're just not that powerful, not that great at anything except fighting with each other. It's all written in the texts. Now it's written in our own personal histories, kid."

I wasn't surprised by Luke's bitterness. I felt it myself. Every time I was defeated in swordplay, every time by arrow went awry, every time nightmares plagued my thoughts even when I wasn't sleeping, I felt the bitterness. If this was where my father was most likely to help me, why was I even trying to like him? If he abandoned skilled and talented sons like Luke, I didn't even stand a chance.

Luke looked at me then and we locked eyes, speaking a silent language fuelled by anger. I didn't think I'd have anything in common with this blonde, outspoken guy but now I saw that we shared one thing: a common enemy. And in that moment I knew I had an ally in Luke Castellan. I knew I didn't belong in Camp Half-Blood but I wasn't the only one.

That was a year ago but the feeling stayed the same. Now, as I made my way outside to the shower block, Luke stopped me. I don't think we'd really had a proper conversation since last year.

"Hey, Chris, got a minute?" he asked, flashing me his happy-camper smile.

I let a skinny girl pass me and stood next to him, "Yeah?"

"Do you have some free time today? In the afternoon maybe? Something I'd like to talk to you about." His tone was light, like he didn't want the other campers to think it was anything serious as they passed us by but I heard an urgent undertone to his voice.

I nodded. "See you at one o' clock back here?"

It was done.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time I get to the cabin after lunch, Luke was already there. Even from a few feet away, I could see he was jittery, shifting from one foot to the other to keep himself busy. I wondered how long he had been waiting there and how important this thing was that he had to tell me. It must have been pretty important – Luke is one of the calmest and most collected people I know so it's weird to see him this nervous.

"Chris!" he calls out when he sees me. When I'm closer, he says "How about we go into the woods? I don't want anyone overhearing."

He doesn't give me time to respond or put down my sword which I've been carrying since training this morning, just takes off down the steps and into the woods. I follow him and think about how different he looks since I last saw him. Even though a year isn't a particularly long time, Luke looks harder like he's been training more intensively. The biggest change is in his eyes: they're a clear blue but there's no light behind them. I've seen eyes like that back home but they're usually in the heads of old ladies with no homes or poor guys who like to drink their money. It is disconcerting to see dead eyes in the face of such a young guy.

Though it's a bright day, the woods are almost always dark. I can hear some weird, faraway grunting coming from somewhere behind the trees. Oddly, it reminds me of when I was young and I had first been moved from sleeping on the floor of my mom's room to sleeping on the couch. The building I lived in was old and would make noises in the night. On nights I couldn't sleep, my mom would hold my hand and say "_Querido_, it's nothing. Go to sleep. Things always look better in the daylight."

Now, I am not quite sure I believe her. It is broad daylight now but the hairs on the back of my neck prickle like they knew something is wrong.

When we are far enough into the woods for Luke's liking – further than I have ever been before – he stops but he doesn't face me. "Guys, can we get a little privacy here?" he calls out. A few of the trees around us shudder and melt into pretty, green-skilled girls. They bat their eyes at Luke before running off.

"What is it, Luke?" I ask, "What do you need to tell me?" Something about the situation feels so wrong. Strangely, I'm glad I have my sword with me though I haven't ever dreamed that I would use on Luke.

"It's been a year, Chris, since our last conversation," Luke says. His tone is measured, giving nothing away. He sounds like my friend Jacinto when he's trying to hide something important. Instinctively, I touch the sword at me side. If Luke notices, he doesn't let on. "How are you feeling?"

"Aw, come on, Luke," I groan, "Don't try to drag this out, ok? You're too smart for that. _I'm _too smart for that. What do you need to tell me?"

Luke gives me a humourless grin. I think the look that flashes briefly across his eyes is approval. I drop my hand from my sword. "Don't miss a beat, eh Rodriguez? Fine, how is your relationship with Hermes?"

"Excuse me?" I am taken aback. I hadn't expected to be grilled like I'm at some kind of shrink. But when Luke doesn't reply I say, "His feelings clearly have not changed. I haven't received any letter or Iris message – ironic since if anyone could find away to contact me, it would be him. And so, Luke, my feelings haven't changed either. Being his son hasn't helped me. All it's given me is an ache in the neck and a smelly guy's elbow in my gut every night. No hard feelings, but I'm not going to be nominating him for father of the year any time soon."

Luke nods. "Thought so. You see, brother, you and I, we're on the same team. Always have been. I haven't been very..._appreciative_ of our beloved father in the past few years. I haven't been very appreciative of any of the gods to be honest. What have they done for me? What have they done for _you_?"

"Nothing. I just said that."

Luke, I realise, hasn't looked directly at me once since we got here. It seems as if what he has to say isn't easy for him to say even though the words roll like water off his tongue. I wish he would just get to the point. But instead he says, "What about your friends? How do they feel?"

My thoughts immediately go to Jacinto and Mark back home. Then I realise that Luke can't possible mean them because he doesn't even know about them. I try to think of the friends I have at camp and my mind struggles to find anyone I would class as a real friend. You're supposed to pick your friends. Isn't there an old saying _"You can pick your friends but you can't pick your family"_? Well, what happens when you're expected to make friends within your family?

In an uncharacteristic moment of truthfulness, I reply, "I don't have any."

Luke laughs again but now he looks at me. Whatever it is he has to say is probably more easily told to a guy who is a loner – no friends to blab to. He says, "You're not alone, Chris."

I want to laugh because here is the most popular guy in Camp telling me he understands what it feels like to be me. Here he is telling me he has no friends either when the scrawny new kid, Percy Jackson, practically worships at his feet. "Don't tell me you have no friends either, Luke," I say and I am surprised by how angry I sound.

Luke looks at me pointedly. "I expected that you would know the difference between being genuinely friends with someone and putting on a likeable front. Hell, even gods can do it! It's not hard!  
"But what I mean to say, Chris is this: there's a way out. It's a way out that I want and I'm going to get and it's a way out you can have if you want it."

"What is it a way out of?"

"Camp Half-Blood, the gods – everything we despise! A war is brewing, Chris. The gods are still too stupid to notice. They're so busy thundering about Zeus's missing lightning bolt that they can't even see the bigger picture! There's a new army –a better army and you can be part of it." Luke's eyes aren't dead any more: they are shining with some kind of manic passion I can't name.

I shake my head. I don't even understand what he's saying. "What do you mean, Luke? Form an army to fight the gods? You can't be serious! What's a bunch of demigods against twelve all-powerful gods? We'll get blown up in the first ten seconds!"

"You're wrong –"

"Fine, five seconds!"

"YOU'RE WRONG!" Luke thunders. His voice is so loud that a flock of birds in the tree behind him take off into the sky.

I am silenced.

"You're wrong," Luke repeats more quietly, "We can win. Not on our own. We will have our own god behind us, Chris. He is more powerful than any of these pathetic gods. The Master of Time! The ruler of the Golden Age! Lord Kronos. He is rising and he needs an army. We can defeat the gods. It is time for the dawn of a new era and we can make it happen. The future is yours if you want it, Chris." Luke fixes his steely gaze on me. I feel like he can see through my doubts, right to what I am really thinking.

I think about how Hermes, an almighty god, left me and my mother alone. He had to have loved my mother at some point, right? You don't just have a kid with someone if you don't love them. I don't know if it makes it better for him to have loved her or not. It's a nice concept, love, but it doesn't change the fact he left us without a second thought in a tiny apartment with no money, no food, no security. And now that I'm here, on his home turf, he still doesn't contact me.

Then I think about my mother. I was never really the kind of kid that wondered about his father. A lot of kids in my neighbourhood were raised by single parents and I never, until now, asked for him to be there. My mother had always been enough for me. I tried at school and I tried to keep out of trouble – even with friends like the ones I'd had – because she tried every day of her life to make mine easier for me. I like coming home to hear the Spanish station on the radio. I even missed the smell of hot chilli and rice for dinner.

My mom wouldn't want me to do this. She'd want me to say no to Luke, no to Kronos. She always did the right thing.

But then I look at Luke and the way he's looking at me, I know I can't just walk away. I won't leave this clearing alive unless I say yes. All the stuff that he told me about him, about Kronos, isn't just a friendly chat between brothers. I have no hope of survival even though I'm carrying a weapon. Luke is much smarter than me and a much better fighter than me. If it came down to it, he would easily win. This is deadly serious information. Funny, actually, how either way this choice will cost me my life.

I know what I should do and I know what I will do; the difference between the two makes my chest ache.

"What will it be Chris Rodriguez?"

My heart thumps in my throat and I choke on the word _no._ I say

"I want in."


	4. Chapter 4

**Note to readers: First of all, thank you. I think this is the most complicated challenge I have set myself so thanks for the support. Secondly, the first two chapters were dedicated to **_**The Lightning Thief**_** and what occurred in Chris's life at that time. Of course, much more would have happened but I cannot outline it all because then I would end up writing five books. But from this chapter, we are in the world of **_**The Sea of Monsters. **_

I am standing on the deck of the _Princes Andromeda_, on watch. I am Chris Rodriguez, I am fourteen years old and I am a soldier in the Titan Lord's army. I am on the side of justice, the side of change – the right side. I am on the side of my fellow half-bloods who want the same thing I do: to make our parents pay. At Camp Half-Blood, I had never felt a kinship with any of the campers bar Luke, even my own brothers. I hadn't thought that there were other demigods who felt the same way about the gods but I was wrong. Even in my own cabin – especially in my own cabin – there were others. I had made good friends with my cabin-mate, Ethan Nakamura, a son of Nemesis. Here, I feel like I belong. This is what I was born for.

After my conversation with Luke last summer, I have grown slowly surer of my choice. It feels _right_. I had lain awake in bed those many nights and wished for a break from camp life, from revering the gods as if they truly something special. This is what I had been hoping. Training for the Lord makes me stronger each day. The training here is extensive but every blow to the head, every cut, every scar and each drop of blood spilled reminds me of the better future I am fighting for. I can see the change in me; after a particularly difficult fight, I had blacked out for a week and when I woke, the reflection in the mirror was that of a strong, powerful soldier.

A scuffle on the deck jerks me to attention. Through months of training at night in the woods with Luke and the others, my eyes have grown accustomed to the dark though in the thick sea fog, I can't see much. It could easily be a monster set free from the menagerie below decks. Luke believes that unexpected attacks on our home turf will make us better fighters and I know he is right. Though I don't know where the beast will attack from, I can predict that it may be one of the training chimeras bred for practice: smaller than the real things but just as deadly. I grip the spear I have been given by the armourer who felt that I would fight better with this than a sword. I hold it ready to strike in a second should I be jumped.

Moments pass but I hear nothing. I don't let my guard down. A gust of sea breeze throws a distinct smell at me. It is not a monster I have encountered before but I know the smell: Cyclops. A young one, too, judging by the tolerable smell. They get smellier as they get older. But it's not alone. They are much too stupid to be quiet without being told. It must have someone with it.

I don't let my guard down all night. I don't smell the Cyclops again.

The next morning, I find Luke with his repugnant bear twins before breakfast. Unlike the rest of us, he isn't dressed in combat gear today. He wears a crisp white polo shirt which makes him look like he's on vacation with the rest of the ghost passengers. When I approach him, he looks impatient.

"Luke? I need to tell you something," I say.

"Were you on guard duty last night, Rodriguez?" he snaps at me. As the Lord grows stronger, Luke becomes more and more short-tempered. I don't know the specifics – no one does – but I can't help but feel as if there is something big at stake here for Luke, a bigger sacrifice than any of the rest of us will ever have to make for Kronos.

"Yes, Luke." I feel dread twist in my gut. He knows. He knows about the Cyclops.

"Did you know, Rodriguz," he says in a voice which oozes with mock politeness, "Yesterday, the oddest thing occurred. We were broken into. There are stowaways on the ship as we speak. They think they have us fooled but we're expecting them. Luckily for you, nothing they do will damage us greatly otherwise the twins would have had a much larger breakfast."

One of the bears, the stupid one, Oreius, guffaws gormlessly at the mention of my death. It doesn't raise my spirits.

"Go, Rodriguez!" Luke shouts. The order is intended for me but I notice he is angrily glaring at Oreius. "You're talking tactics today with Markel."

I leave them alone in the room that smells like death from the sarcophagus behind Luke and try to find Markel, a Hephaestus kid with a head too big for his body who should have been a child of Athena with his brains and strategies. It's not easy. The ship is huge with levels and sections for everything: armoury and weapons, map rooms, stores, mess halls, bunks, training rooms and the menagerie as well as a whole list of other rooms I have never been told about. The place is crawling with monsters. Most of them are stupid and leave you alone but I can't shake off the instinct that I am supposed to fight them; they are my natural enemies. The ship is also full of people who aren't real at all – vacationers of all ages with glazed eyes and monotonous voices that you can walk right through, like ghosts. Of all places I cannot believe this has become my home.

For a brief moment, my mind is pulled back to the Hermes cabin back at camp. I don't miss it, not for a heartbeat, but every day I wonder if I made the right choice. Though I am becoming surer in my mission now, I can't get rid of that nagging voice in my head that screams at me that I am wrong. It is a voice that sounds a lot like my mother's.

Finally, I find Markel in one of the map rooms. We take a bunch of scrolls with us outside to one of the decks so we can strategise in the sun. It's as close to a holiday on this ship as we're ever going to get. There is an island off the East Coast which will be difficult to manoeuvre around and not be seen by both demigods and mortals and it is up to me and Markel to figure out a way to get around it. If it goes wrong, I can be sure of my death.

"Well, there is no point going _all _the way around it –we'll lose fuel..." I zone out of what Markel is saying. The hairs on the back of my neck prick in warning as though something is looking at me. It could easily be a zombie-vacationer but I'm not convinced. I narrow my eyes and look around.

When I turn around, I swear I see a flash of orange. Camp Half-Blood orange. And for a second I thought I saw...was that...Percy Jackson?


	5. Chapter 5

I don't think I could have seen it coming. There was no way – no _way_ – that Percy Jackson was on this ship. Under my watch too. How had I let this happen? Why was Luke not madder at me? My heart raced in my chest faster than after an hour of training. Percy Jackson is on my ship.

My mind reeled and I was vaguely aware of Markel asking me if I was alright. Was I? Should I sound the alarms?

"Rodriguez? _Rodriguez?_" Markel was shaking me and all of a sudden, like someone had just poured cold water over my head, I was shaken back to reality. Suddenly, the sunny deck wasn't so warm any more. "What in Hades, Rodriguez? You look like you've never seen a ghost before!"

I look at what Markel is staring at, the figure behind me. It's a small boy of about ten in an orange Hawaii-print shirt and cargo shorts. His brown eyes are glazed over and he is wearing a stupid grin on his face. Perhaps I hadn't seen Percy Jackson after all.

Of course I hadn't seen Percy Jackson. What would he be doing on this ship? From what I hear, he almost died last summer. If he had any sense, he would stay away from this ship. Hell, he shouldn't even know about this ship! I was being stupid. Still, I remembered that we were on his territory, water, and the thought didn't make me feel any better.

"No, Markel," I said, surprising even myself by how calm my voice was, "It must be lack of sleep. Too much staying up after dark." I laughed and a second too late I realised what I had said.

Markel was terrified of the dark. Even mentioning it made his eyes get a scared, faraway look. One of the other Hephaestus kids had told me that Markel's mom, a workaholic engineer, had forgotten about him once while playing hide and seek and had left him in a tiny closet in her warehouse for nineteen hours. In her rush, she'd set down heavy boxes of equipment in front of the door and the loud machinery had drowned his screams. It explained, actually, why Markel was pretty scared of cramped spaces and the dark. It explained why he'd never fit into the life he was born for, never tinkering or fixing things like most other Hephaestus kids, and why he preferred this like to the cabin that looked like a warehouse at Camp Half-Blood. Things like that scar kids for life.

But I couldn't imagine being like Markel. Sure I was messed up – aren't we all? – but I can't imagine losing my mind at the mention of something.

"Markel, man," I say gently, "Forget I said it, okay? Let's get back to this island, huh?"

As soon as I had said it, there was a huge commotion behind us. Monsters and demigods scattered everywhere as I heard one of the unmistakable bellows of the bear twins. Markel and I ran from our seats, hearts pounding. Just around the corner, we just in time to see Oreius flying into the pool. Water splashed everywhere and the zombie-vacationers started yelling.

"We are _not_ having a blast in the pool!" they chorused.

I tore me eyes away from the drowning bear man as a dozen archers shot arrows at two figures jumping overboard.

I hadn't been wrong. It was Percy Jackson.


	6. Chapter 6

After the escape of Percy Jackson and his companions, one of the oldest campers Annabeth Chase and young Cyclops, everything is chaos.

Oreius is punishing himself, and everyone else, by banging his bear head against one of the walls, making the deck shake.

There are arrows everywhere.

The air is pierced by the screams of the zombie-vacationers.

My head feels like it is

about

to

explode.

Once again I feel dizzy. Sounds become fuzzy in my ears as realisation hits me: I allowed Percy Jackson on the ship. This is all my fault. This is all my fault. All. My. Fault.

If I had followed the smell of that Cyclops, we would have caught Percy Jackson sooner. If I had followed after him when I saw him on the deck this morning, we wouldn't be in this mess. If, if, if.

"_RODRIGUEZ!" _It's Luke. I shake my head to clear it and it hurts. My vision is blurry but I can't tell if I am crying. I better not be. I haven't cried since I was a kid and I wasn't going to start now, not in front of Luke.

"Rodriguez! You go to your bunk, fix yourself and then I want you. Immediately!" I look at Luke, this boy who had once, just once, called me his brother. I had believed him. He had felt like a brother to me but I can see that I had never been much of anything but a soldier that he needed to recruit to him. And now I was a soldier who had let him down.

I knew there would be a price to pay for this. I didn't even know if I would make it out alive.

By the time I nodded to let him know I understood what he wanted, he was gone.

My cabin, the one I shared with Ethan Nakamura, was thankfully empty. Though I knew I didn't have time to keep Luke waiting, I sank down onto my bed. For the first time, it was beginning to feel like a war and for the first time, I was scared to lose. I buried my face in my pillow and thought about my mother.

Would she ever see me again? She was my whole family and I was hers. She had promised that I would get to go home someday in our last Iris Message almost two years ago. I hadn't seen my mom in _two years_. If I hadn't been crying out there on the deck, I am now. _My mother_. I need to see her. I need to feel her arms around me on that tiny living room couch, telling me it would be alright in the morning. I need to smell her rose perfume and the faint smell of Clorox that would cling to her long after she left her cleaning job. I needed to tell her thank you for being my mother and my father and everything I had ever needed. I wanted to thank her for being there for me and say sorry that she might never see me again. Lyrics from a song I once heard in a movie ring in my ears _"No words describe a mother's tears / No words can heal a broken heart / A dream is gone"_.

I would be gone. I felt it in my gut.

"I'm so sorry, Mama," I sob into my pillow, my chest racked with the built up pain from the past few years. I haven't called her mama since I was little but I need that strong lady from my childhood here right now. "Oh, god, Mama I am so, _so_ sorry."

Luke is in The Room. The sarcophagus room. The room where I will die. When I walk in, the point of a spear digging into my back, he is reclined on a chair, covering his eyes with his hands and in that moment, I can see him, old, in that same position. He is carrying the weight of a thousand worlds on his back but his shoulders don't shake.

"Leave." I feel the spear's point leave my back. We are alone. "Sit, Chris."

I probably shouldn't have been surprised to hear him call me Chris after being referred to as Rodriguez for so long but I am. I am also surprised at how it warms me towards him. I take a seat opposite him and fold my hands in my lap. I feel oddly ready to die.

"Chris, I am granting you a quest."

I hadn't realised that I was holding my breath until I let it all out at once. It was as if he had punched me in the stomach but in the way a brother would, friendlily. It was like I was dangling on the edge of a cliff and instead of pushing me off, like I had expected, he had pulled me back to my feet.

"Wh-what?" I stammer, "A quest?"

"Yes, a quest," Luke sighs and finally looks at me, "A mission, an assignment...whatever you want to call it."

Luke gets up suddenly, making me jump involuntarily. He turns away from me and looks out of one of the many windows in the large room, towards the ocean. His tired face is scrunched up into a frown. "Have you heard of Daedalus's labyrinth, Chris?"

I nod. Then I realise he can't see me so I say, "Yes. The one with Ariadne's string, right? She led Theseus out of the maze – _that _labyrinth?"

"Precisely that labyrinth, Chris. I need you to go there. Find a way in, find a way out. Simple."

Simple. My mind reels. I say " It sounds anything but simple. In the myths, pretty much everyone except Theseus dies in that labyrinth! What – I mean, how should I navigate it? Do we have –"

"That is all for you to figure out," Luke says coldly. He turns to look at me again and his gaze is anything but brotherly. "I would like to remind you, Chris Rodriguez, that under your watch, the demigod that could most damage the chances of the Titan Lord's reawakening snuck onto this ship. With a _Cyclops_ no less. And this morning, on the very same deck as you were, he slipped by again and led to the destruction of two of our most valuable guards, the bear twins. I think you owe it to this crew, to the Titan Lord to go on this quest that could lead us to victory. It could be a passage into the heart of Camp Half-Blood. Don't you agree, brother?"

There. So he calls me his brother as he sentences me to my doom. The way he fingers his sword, Backbiter, tells me this is not an option.

I am being sent to die.


	7. Chapter 7

It would, of course, be very easy to sit on my bed and think about my rapidly-approaching death for the rest of the day but after my conversation with Luke, I feel numb. As I pack my essentials into a backpack, I don't even feel in control of my actions. My mind is either a blank slate or an angry crowd; I am thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

I don't remember the last time I had been so scared. And then, all at once, I remember.

When I was twelve years old, I was followed home from school. My school was twenty-four blocks away from my house. I could have got the bus but it was either the bus or the rent so I walked. It was October and the air was cold, numbing the tips of nose and ears. It wasn't raining, exactly, but it was that weird sort of air that is so wet that it seeps through your clothes and gets you wet anyway. I had walked four blocks until I noticed that there was a shadow that had been behind me ever since I set off from school. Funny how when you really think about something, you realise your mind had taken notes on what's been going on even when you haven't been paying attention. It was like a noise that had droned on and on in the background for so long that you hadn't even known it was there until it stopped. When the shadow fell out of step with mine, I realised it was there.

In the yellow lamplight, I noticed how the shadow – or whoever the shadow belonged to – had quickened its pace. Probably due to some stupid survival instinct, I turned around. Behind me stood the tallest man I had ever seen in my life, his head almost at the same level as the second-storey windows of the buildings around us. His shoulders were so broad that they were nearly the same width as the narrow street. He must have been breathing very heavily because huge, steamy clouds escaped from where his nose must have been and his face was blocked by both the darkness and a broad-brimmed hat.

"Chris Rodriguez," he said in a deep, gravelly voice that did not sound very human. He pronounced my name wrong but I didn't correct him and despite this, he spoke like he had waited for me for a long time. "Ah, it has been so _long_."

On the last word he stepped forward into the light and tore of his hat. I heard someone scream and I realise now that it must have been me: the man had only one eye. Right in the middle of his forehead. It bloodshot and a scar cut through the skin around it, like someone had tried to scratch it out before. He grinned and he looked like death.

I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run before. My heart felt heavy, like lead, and I was sure that it would stop. With every step I took, I felt my knees grow weaker and weaker. The one-eyed man laughed from behind me. He knew that running away was useless and that he would eventually catch me. His strides were three times the length of mine. I felt his hands close around me, touching my waist.

_God, I'm going to die,_ I thought. In hindsight, it is the worst thing to think before you die: painfully obvious and anticlimactic. But I supposed it's only in movies where the dying man thinks of poignant and deeply symbolic things before he takes his last breath.

I felt a sharp pain in my stomach and I thought that he'd stabbed me somehow. But when I looked down, there was no blood. There were no hands. There was nothing. I wasn't even on the same street.

I had..._teleported_?

I realised that I had not teleported very far when I heard the one-eyed man roar. No, I hadn't teleported very far at all, just onto the next street.

I started to run. It felt like I had only taken one step before he was behind me again.

"Filthy demigod scum!" he yelled from behind me, "Fight fair!"

"That's rich coming from a man the size of a building picking on a kid!" I yelled back. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, pumping new found bravery – or stupidity – around my body.

"Man?" the creature roared, outraged, "You dare call me that? I am a hundred times more powerful! Two hundred times more deadly! I am a Cyclops!"

I didn't have time to be surprised. There was a giant lunatic raving about demigods and Cyclops and trying to kill me. I was more focused in trying to stay alive.

_Think, Chris_, I told myself, _how do you kill this thing?_

I looked around me for something I could use, something sharp or heavy. But there was nothing, just trash cans. I grabbed the lid of one of the trash cans and held it in front of me like a shield. The one-eyed man – the Cyclops – charged at me, roaring and I smashed the lid into his face. His head created a crater in it, making it useless, so I ran, grabbing the next trash can lid as I went.

"You will never escape me, half-blood weakling!" the Cyclops bellowed.

"We'll see about that, _burro_!" I shot back.

I rounded a corner, straight into a huge, overflowing Dumpster. I was trapped. But then, a split-second before the Cyclops came pummelling in after me, I spotted a glint of metal. Someone had thrown away a shower rod. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled. It was buried under a pile of garbage and I wasn't going to free it in time to save myself. I picked up a brick from the top and threw it at the Cyclops' head. It roared with pain and flung out its arm, hitting me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain and tossed another brick, straight at his eye.

The eye! That was his weak spot! That was where I needed to aim.

It took one last tug to free the shower rod from where it had become lodged.

"Take that!" I yelled as I jabbed it towards the Cyclops's face. I missed, hitting his nose and he laughed.

I jabbed again. He disintegrated into a pile of ashes.

That time, my mother had sent me to Camp Half-Blood, explaining to me who my father was and that I would learn how to survive there. This time, I didn't have anyone to reassure me and this time I would face the monsters alone.

I didn't sleep that night, my last night as a free man.

The first day of my death sentence begins not with a bang but with a fizzle. It seems awfully unfair that it should be a brilliantly sunny, cloudless day when I am about to die. I don't know how much control Hermes has over these things but I feel cheated that he hasn't intervened in some way or even shown me a sign. It reminds me again why I am on this ship and why I am even being sent on this quest.

Luke meets me after breakfast by the lifeboats. He is alone – that is to say he doesn't have the bear twins standing behind him like his bodyguards because they are dead – but for a girl who stands next to him. I don't recognise her.

"Rodriguez," Luke nods when I am near. I am surprised to see that he doesn't look angry like he did yesterday. He looks...sad. "I want you to know that you're being asked to do this because you're one of my most trusted men, understand?"

That can't be true. I think he is trying to make me feel better. But I nod anyway.

"You will be given one lifeboat and its supplies. One of the Hecate kids has charmed it to take you to the shore. I have been informed that there are quite a few entrances to the labyrinth in Manhattan though it will be up to you to find them. No one can help you beyond that point. That is, of course, no one except your companion."

He motions to the girl who steps forward and sticks out her hand for me to shake. The girl looks younger than me though I can't tell if this is because she is extremely thin. Her armour is so small it looks like it was designed for a child. She has straight blonde hair that she's pulled back into a ponytail so tight, it makes her face look even narrower. Her eyes are a deep brown and they shine, perhaps from excitement, perhaps from fear.

She says, "I'm Mary."


	8. Chapter 8

Mary doesn't talk much which is alright by me. I have no interests in actually making friends with her because there is a very high chance that in a couple of days she'll be dead and I really don't need any more grief in my life. She keeps to her half of the lifeboat and I keep to mine. Not that it is that big. It is an ugly orange thing big enough, it claims, for ten people. For a magical lifeboat, it's pretty unspectacular and goes slower than I could walk on dry land. If stretch out my legs, they cross over into Mary's territory and she makes a face.

I wonder what Mary did to be sent on this death trip. I almost ask her but she must see that I'm about to speak because she turn away to check her map even though the boat is charmed to take us to the shore and we both know she doesn't need to. While she's not looking, I study her more closely. She still looks young to me but her eyes seem old, like they've seen things a teenager shouldn't have to see. But haven't we all? She sits up ramrod straight even though there's no one here to tell her off if she slouches, and her shoulders are always kind of hunched like she's trying to block the cold wind or ignore someone that won't go away.

"Will you stop staring at me?" she snaps as she suddenly looks up from her map, "I can _feel_ it, you know."

I feel my cheeks flush. "Sorry. I was just...nothing. How much longer until we reach the shore?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, you _were_ just staring at that map for the past – what? – five minutes. Thought you might have figured something out."

"I haven't. I don't read maps." Don't, not 'can't'.

I throw my hands up and laugh a little because it's not funny. "You know we're going to be inside a labyrinth, right? Luke sent someone who can't even read maps to accompany me into the maze of death?"

"Gods, you're a genius!" Mary laughs sarcastically, "Do you think map reading is honestly going to help us in the 'maze of death', as you call it? It's a _magical labyrhinth_, Chris. It is constantly changing, shifting and its goal is to manipulate us. Why do you think no one except Theseus ever survived? The labyrinth was designed to kill them. Retracing your steps is pointless; the path will have already changed. Trying to memorise routes? Useless, they never stay the same. Luke sent me someone who doesn't even know _anything_ about the labyrinth to accompany me into the maze of death?"

I tried not to let her comment about how the labyrinth was designed to kill you get to me but it did. She knew it would, that's why she said it. When I look at her, there's a small, satisfied look on her face like she's pleased she got to me.

I shrug and say, "You a daughter of Athena or something?"

Mary scoffs. "No, Nike."

"Like the sports shoes?"

Another scoff. She must really like being right. "No – I mean, yes, but the shoes are nothing to do with her. She's kind of annoyed they used her name, actually. She stands for victory and obviously not every athlete in those hideous shoes wins. It makes her look bad."

"Wait, your mother is the goddess of victory?" I ask, shaking my head. It slowly sinks in that the goddess of victory's kid is on the Titan's side. That must mean something, right? That must mean that she thinks this will be the winning side. The thought comforts me when it probably shouldn't. It doesn't reduce the chances of my imminent death.

Mary must know what I'm thinking because she pinches up her face and looks away. "She's not picking sides," she says quietly, "Or maybe she is but she won't tell me. She doesn't want to lose, you know? It doesn't mean anything that I'm here. There are Nike kids back at Camp, too."

"So why did you betr– I mean, join the other side?" I ask.

Mary looks angry when she looks at me. "You mean _your_ side? Why did you?"

I look right back at her until I realise that we could sit here forever, staring angrily at each other, and until I lost. She wouldn't stop until she won. It was in her blood. But I didn't answer her question. I decided it was enough talking for now, anyway.

* * *

We reach the shore just as the sun is setting. The New York harbour is bustling with tourists snapping pictures of the brilliant pink and orange sky, laughing and happy. I wonder if they see us in our little lifeboat or if the Mist makes us totally invisible. If they see us, I wonder what they see. Maybe they think Mary is my girlfriend and we're out on a date. Maybe they think we stole the lifeboat since we're obviously not survivors from a shipwreck and one of them is calling the police right now. I don't know which thought scares me more.

It's a good job the lifeboat sorts itself out because I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm pretty sure Miss I-Don't-Read-Maps doesn't moor lifeboats either. I pick up backpack and step off first onto the beach. The tourists ignore us which I am pretty thankful for as we make our way up the stone steps to the promenade.

"So what are we looking for, exactly?" I ask when we've made our way off the pier and away from the crowds of people admiring the sea from behind their camera lenses.

"There is no known way to find an entrance to the labyrinth," Mary answers simply like this has solved all our problems when, in reality, it has solved nothing.

I let out an exasperated sigh and lean against a store wall. "So we have no leads? _Nada_? What do we propose we do, then?"

Mary looks at me pointedly. I know I'm not being fair. She doesn't know any more than me what we're doing and, if her situation is anything like mine, she's probably carrying the weight of something painful on her hunched shoulders otherwise she wouldn't be on this quest. I realise, too, that she knows just as well as me that we're going to die. I decide I will make more of an effort to not dislike her since my last moments will probably be at her side.

"I don't know. Aren't you supposed to be the leader?" Mary barks at me, turning away to stare at anything that it not me, I guess.

It will not be easy trying to like this girl.

"Maybe we should check out some of the older buildings? They might have entrances in the basements or something?" I suggest. There aren't many shops on the Main Street that look old, most are shiny and new, but there must be some further into the town.

Mary shakes her head. "No checking out, please. We just spent a whole day, pretty much, in a tiny lifeboat. I suggest we check _in _somewhere. Get some rest. We can go entrance-hunting tomorrow. Please?"

As soon as she says it, I realise how tired I am. I don't know if it is from the trip across the ocean or putting up with Mary or last night's sleeplessness, but my bones ache with fatigue. I nod but then I say, "We don't have mortal money."

Mary purses her lips so thin, they practically disappear. Then she unzips a pocket of her backpack and pulls out a thin, black credit card. She doesn't look at me when she says, "Not that I owe you any explanations, but it's from my dad. For emergencies. I think this would count as an emergency."

"Yeah, okay. If you're sure-"

"Shut up, Rodriguez," she says, clearly annoyed, "I don't do things I'm not sure of. Now let's go find a cheap hotel. Or a motel. Or a hole, I don't care. I need to _sleep."_

There is no way _cheap_ goes with any of the hotels or motels or even holes near the town's centre. We walk through the small town (we find out it's a small fishing village called Bishop from after seeing several tacky postcards in souvenir shop windows) and the further we go into it, the shabbier it becomes. The stores become less shiny, the windows displaying second-hand shoes instead of boutique dresses. The bricks of the buildings are greying and most of the windows have curtains pulled shut across them. Here there are no tourists and not even any locals. I'm not sure we'll find a motel anywhere around here.

But then I see it: a shabby wooden sign propped up next to the mailbox of one of the houses. The green paint is peeling but I can make out the words 'Cynthia's B&B: 2 rooms available' in faded lettering. I turn to tell Mary and realise she's halfway up the garden path.

"Are you sure this is even open?" I call after her, "It looks a little..."

"Like our best bet?" She wins again. "Come on, Chris."

I follow her up the garden path which is half covered in long grass from the overgrown lawn on either side of it. Mary knocks on the door, hard, and we wait but there is no response. She knocks again, harder still, and the door rattles in its frame.A few moments later, I hear shuffling on the other side of the door.

A tiny elderly lady in a pink apron opens the door. She looks at us like we're alien specimen. "Yes?"

"Hi, we're here to ask about a room?" Mary positively beams at the woman. She looks nice when she smiles - whoa, what? No, no she does not. She's _Mary_.

"Which one?" the woman asks, still suspicious. She keeps staring at us and I realise that something about her stare is...hungry. I want to tell Mary we should go but it seems too late and before I can say anything, the woman's already saying,"We got a double and a twin. No singles. You a couple? You look young. I can't let you stay in the double."

"No, no!" Mary says, "We're not a couple. We're - um - cousins. We'll take the twin."

"Now, hold on," the lady says, "You got money?"

"Do you accept credit cards?"

"Some. Depends on whether the machine's in a good mood or not. Come on in. Welcome to Cynthia's B&B."


	9. Chapter 9

The inside of Cynthia's B&B is dark and dreary. The narrow hallway is dimly lit with lamps fixed on to the walls like torches in caves. They do a better job lighting up the framed pictures of an angry-looking bulldog with a scarred face than lighting the actual hallway. It smells like the house of someone who is so used to the wet dog smell that they never open the windows or spray air freshener. I try my best to breathe through my mouth.

"Do you have a dog?" Mary asks politely. I see her staring at a large picture of the same dog above the tiny front desk. There is some kind of bloody meat in the bowl in front of the dog and its muzzle is coated with red. I don't think it's the best picture to put up in the lobby of your bed and breakfast.

The woman smiled fondly, "Yes. His name is Big L." The way she says makes it clear that she will not be explaining what the L stands for. "He _loves_ it when we get visitors."

We are handed a slim silver key and told our room will be the second door on the left upstairs. The woman disappears behind an old yellow curtain behind her desk before we can even say anything else.

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" I ask Mary as I follow her up the stairs. "This place...there's something weird about it."

"It's just for one night," Mary says, waving her hand dismissively, "We'll be fine. She was an old lady – what's the worst she could do?"

"She's an old lady with a dog that likes bloody meat!" I say indignantly but it's not that great an argument. I mean, beef can be bloody right?

The twin room is tiny: even with the two metal-framed beds pushed up against either wall, there is barely room for the tiny bedside table that stands between them; the sheets look dusty, like they haven't been changed in a while; there is a small window through which silver moonlight spills, highlighting the dust on the windowsill. I realise that the backpacks will have to go under the bed because the rest of the room is taken up by a giant book case crammed with thick hardbacks. They look ancient, like they've been around since books were first a thing.

Mary disappears off into the bathroom down the hallway and I examine the titles. They have the strangest names: Train Your Beast: From Chihuahuas to Chimeras, Greek Myths As They _Really_ Happened...My eyes are drawn to a small leather-bound book that looks more like a day planner or journal. A small gold Δ is printed on the spine. I feel like I should know what that symbol means; for some inexplicable reason, it feels like it is important to the quest. I am about to take the book off the shelf when Mary returns and I drop my hand, feeling like she caught me doing something wrong.

"Snooping?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I just..." I don't finish my sentence. Instead, I finish off the standard-issue trail mix from the _Princess Andromeda_, a mix of oats, raisins and ambrosia, before bed.

Even when all the lights have been turned off and the house is silent and still, I can't sleep. There is no curtain in the window and the moonlight lights up the tiny room. When I close my eyes, I see the golden Δ burn behind my eyelids.

I want to turn the light back on so I can get a better look at it but I don't want to wake Mary. "Mary?" I whisper to test if she really is asleep.

"What?" she whispers back. In the dark, the annoyance in her voice positively glows.

I don't have anything so say I ask her again, "Why are you on this quest?"

Mary is silent for so long that I think she's not going to answer. Then I hear her turn over and she faces me. Her face looks grey and gaunt in this light. "Why are you on this quest?" she echoes.

I sigh. It's not a secret – I can tell her. So I do. I tell her everything, from being on watch and sensing the Cyclops, to spying Percy Jackson on the deck and letting him get away again. I leave out the part about crying. I don't tell her about how scared I feel but I'm not a great actor. When I was younger, my mother could always tell when I wasn't telling the truth and now, I think Mary can probably hear the fear in my voice.

When I finish, Mary is quiet. After a while she speaks so quietly that I have to strain to hear what she's saying, "Luke said he sent you because you were the first recruit. He told me he thought you should be the first scout. He said it was a matter of honour."

I let that sink in. I don't know if it is a lie. Maybe it is a matter of honour, a way to help the Titan Lord rise again and take over Camp Half-Blood and Olympus. But I also remember how Luke had brought up my failures when he assigned me to the quest. I don't know which version of his story is true. I considered him a brother, the only one who knew how I felt, but I don't think I know him at all.

"I'm sorry," Mary says which surprises me because she doesn't have anything to be sorry for and she doesn't strike me as the kind of girl that apologises for no reason. "Actually, I take that back. I have nothing to be sorry for." There we go.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here then?"

"Fine," Mary sighs, "Because I want to win."

"Win what?" I ask, puzzled.

"Do you know what your fatal flaw is, Chris? No? Well, I know mine all too well. My mother only confirmed it last week when she spoke to me. It's over competitiveness. I get it from her, I guess. I will do _anything_ to win. I'm not proud of it but it's not something I can change. It's been the same since I was a kid. I had to win every school sports day, I had to come top of the class – it's who I am.  
Last summer, Luke talked to me about Kronos's rise. He told me this would be the winning side. You know how he is; he could make you believe anything. I prayed to my mother every day asking to know which the right path was but she never replied. And I figured...why not? I knew Luke wasn't going to give me any longer to make up my mind. I mean, you don't tell someone a secret like that and just let them walk away, do you? Not if you're Luke, anyway. So I said yes." She laughs sadly and adds, "I did it because I wanted to win and because I was mad at my mother. _Stupid_."

"I did it because I was mad at my dad, too," I say. I don't have to reassure her – she's not my friend – but I want to. "I don't think it's a stupid reason."

Mary gives me a look that I can't quite make out in the dark. I can tell it's not sarcastic or annoyed and it's not the Mary I know but I think it will be easier to like this Mary. But it's only there for a second before it's gone and Mary's turned away already.

"Go to sleep, Chris. We have a quest to complete in the morning."

When I close my eyes, I don't feel tired. Instead I think about the fact that there is a boat full of kids who are angry with their godly parents who don't care about them and they're putting their lives at risk just to prove themselves. It makes me sad to think I'm one of them.

When I fall asleep, I see the golden Δ in my dreams.

* * *

I wake to the smell of something burning. My stomach churns as I realise it's probably our breakfast. Mary is already gone, her bed made and her backpack missing. It makes me uneasy to know she's down there somewhere with the creepy old lady and possibly her dog so I get ready as quick as possible.

Before I go, my eyes are drawn again to the book with the triangle on the spine. Instinctively, I pull it off the shelf and stuff it into my backpack. I feel a twinge of guilt but not guilty enough to put the book back on the shelf.

In the morning light, the dog photos on the walls only seem creepier and I shudder as I see that nearly all the pictures show the dog with blood around its mouth. In one picture I quickly pass I swear I see a finger in its mouth, but I tell myself it has to be a wiener or something. Dogs don't eat fingers.

I follow a handwritten sign with the words _dining room_ and an arrow pointing right into a small room with a large wooden table and mismatched chairs. The smell of burning is stronger in this room though I can't tell where it's coming from. From the walls, blocking most of the mottled mould-coloured wallpaper, are dozens of growling ugly dogs – always the same one. Big L.

"Morning, dear," says a voice from behind me. The old lady whose name I still don't know is standing with a tray in the doorway. On the tray is a blackened lump that I can't identify as any specific breakfast food.

"Good morning. Where is Mary?" I don't mean to sound rude but the way the woman is smiling is totally off-putting.

"Mmm? Oh, the girl. Yes, she's...around. My Big L has taken quite a liking to her, you know." The woman grins eerily as she sets down the plate in front of me. What she says doesn't comfort me in the least. "Let me tell you about Big L, honey. The L stands for Laelaps. He's an amazing hunter, you know. Many years ago, Zeus himself put a constellation in the sky for my Laelaps!"

"S-sorry? _Zeus_?" I stammer. She knows?

"Yes, boy, Zeus!" the woman snaps, clearly irritated that I interrupted her story, "You should know! Being a demigod and all. And you should know about Laelaps! He's best hunter in the world – the dog that never fails to catch his prey. Oh, it has been so long since we've had demigods around here and does so like girls."

I am so stunned that it takes a minute for her words to sink in: Mary is the unbeatable demon dog's next meal.


	10. Chapter 10

It seems like for several heartbeats, there is only silence and the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I can't tell if the realisation that Mary was being held hostage somewhere hit me seconds or minutes ago but I know, whatever it is, I have been standing here for too long. Just once, I wish my life could be like the heroes on TV where they hear some bad news and they're immediately stripping open their white shirt or climbing in to the Batmobile, because it seems like my heroic acts always involve standing there dumbfounded for far too long.

The nameless old lady doesn't protest when I push past her and out into the narrow hallway. I can hear her laughing, though, like she knows I will fail. But I refuse to give up – I can't let Mary die before we have even found the labyrinth! I feel for my spear, currently in its miniature form, in the pocket of my jeans. At the press of a small, red button in the centre, it springs into full size and I hear the woman stop laughing behind me.

Finally, she sees me as competition for her precious dog.

And now, a combination of rage and adrenaline courses through me and I spin to face her in the doorway of the dining room. "Where is she?" I bellow, stepping closer to the old woman until my spear's tip is only millimetres from her throat. "Tell me now!"

"You wouldn't hurt an old, woman, would you?" she whimpers. There is nothing but fear in her voice that makes my gut twist with guilt for a second. But I can't forget that her man-eating dog is in the house somewhere trying to eat my best friend.

"I wouldn't?" I sneer and push my spear closer to her. I remember that I am a soldier; this is a war and in a war there are casualties.

"T-the curtain!" the woman wails, "The curtain!"

I remember how she had disappeared behind an old yellow curtain when we arrived here last night. I tear down the hallway to the front desk. It is a small, square table, really, and there is no barrier to block my way to the opening behind it. I tear the curtain away.

Behind it is a gaping doorway. Stone steps that look slippery with something dark – no I won't think that. There is no light, no railings. I take a breath but I don't think twice before running headlong down the steps. At the bottom, is a dark room, cold with emptiness. I can see nothing but I trace my fingers along one wall to help me guide my way. I run my spear along the ground like a blind man's cane, hoping I don't trip over anything. Chills run down my spine as I the thought crosses my mind that there may be bodies, human bodies, inches away from me, invisible.

Without warning, the floor suddenly dips beneath my feet. I slip down a slope that I can't see; I can only feel the rough floor graze against my skin as I fall. _This is it,_ I think,_ my death lies at the bottom of this freefall._

I hit the ground with a thud that echoes in my bones. It is surprisingly soft, like earth, but the room smells rank. The wet dog smell that permeates the house is stronger than ever, clinging stubbornly to my nostrils and even filtering into my mouth. The air tastes like death. I see the cruel hope of lights flickering ahead and I force myself to my feet, ignoring the pain in my legs.

I follow the stench of rot and the dim lights and...

I almost fall into another pit. A huge crater the shape and size of an Olympic swimming pool has been dug into the ground. It is lit brightly with torches burning with green Greek fire. Its floor is made of some kind of red earth and sawdust and it is littered with bones. Some have been bleached ale white over time and other still have rotting half-eaten meat clinging to them. It smells like hell. There are stairs in one side, presumable so the old woman can take food down to the dog.

My eyes find Mary on one side of the pit: her hand and feet have been tied with thick rope and she in bound to a tall pole. Her mouth is gagged and she lies limp. There is a nasty gash in her side which is still bleeding though there is a huge pool of her own blood around her. She's lost too much blood. She is dead already. I'm too late.

A fierce growl draws my eyes to the other side of the pit. Big L, or Laelaps as I should call him. His face is even uglier and more horrific than in any of the photos I have seen. His fur must have been white at some point but it is now so dirty and matted with blood that it is difficult to really be sure. His muzzle is caked with blood. Mary's blood.

There is no way for me to make it down to the pit and make it out alive. There is a thick chain attached to Laelaps's studded collar which would restrain him to an extent but there was no way I would be quick or agile enough to fight him off and save Mary at the same time.

"Your fight is pointless, demigod." The old woman is behind me. Her eyes are dancing with some manic joy as she steps toward me. "But fight you shall."

She moves so fast that I don't realise she has pushed me into the pit until I have landed on the bloody turf. I don't wait even for a split second before running to the far end of the pit, next to Mary. The dog realises it has a new meal too late. I am already too far away.

"You see, half-blood," the old woman says from above me. Her voice sounds high-pitched, frenzied, but I can't tell if that is from the ringing in my ears. "My darling Big L is the greatest hunter but here he would surely be killed if he was allowed to hunt freely. If I want to keep him, I have to keep him close. He does so miss the hunt, the poor thing. I try to make it as fun for him as possible. Eventually he'll remember that the chain twists an exact way that will allow him to _devour_ you. You stand no chance! In entering his arena, you are his prey, and Big L never misses."

I cans see the dog coming closer and closer. Its growls are low but loud, bouncing off the walls of the pit. I whip my spear towards him. It slashes through the rank air and makes him run fast towards me and Mary. I manage to nick him with the tip of my spear, drawing blood and making him howl, but before his razor sharp teeth can touch me, the chain reaches its limit and he is pulled back.

"Mary!" I yell, putting my lips closer to her ear, "Mary, wake up!" I try to keep one eye on Laelaps as he struggles on his metal leash as I gently but urgently shake Mary's shoulders. The only way for Laelaps to die would be for her to kill him. I am his prey now and I can't win. But Mary can. The only problem is the bleeding wound in her side –if she can summon enough power to thrust my spear through the dog, we can escape.

Mary stirs and groans in pain. Her eyes fly open and they are filled with fear as if she realises exactly where she is. I tug the gag from her mouth and she pants heavily, filling her lungs with the stale air and coughing. She winces as each cough puts pressure on her wound and I find myself wishing that it was me instead of her that was hurting.

"Mary, Mary, Mary," I repeat like it's a mantra. If I say her name enough times, she will come around. She will be strong enough to fight off Laelaps. "Mary, listen to me, okay? Can you understand me?"

Mary gives a nod so faint that it's barely perceptible.

"Good!" I can hear the relief in my own voice. "Mary, this thing always kills its prey, do you understand? _I_ am its prey now. I can't kill it, Mary. It's got to be _you_."

"Gods, Chris," Mary says quietly, "It's like you can't do anything without me."

I smile in spite of myself, in spite of this situation. Mary is still Mary.

The dog barks sharply and tugs even more ferociously on his chain, forcing me to look away from Mary. It doesn't seem any closer to figuring out the trick in escaping so I take a chance and take both eyes off it to cut Mary's ties free with my spear. Mary rubs her freed wrists which are red with rope burn and tries to stand up. She cries out with pain and buckles again from her wound. Mary is not the kind of girl to cry. She grits her teeth.

"Give me your spear," she says under her breath. It dawns on me that she's not trying to keep quiet; it is taking all her effort to talk and stand up at the same time.

The plan that sounded so simple and great to me a few minutes ago seems like a disaster now. "Mary you can't," I say, "It's –"

"Give. Me. Your. Spear, Chris." Mary repeats. Her fatal flaw: she will not be told she can't, she will not be defeated.

It takes me all my willpower to hand over the spear. "Okay, I'll make sudden movements, dogs hate that. Can you move forward?" She can't really but she nods. "Okay, good. When it comes closer...um, kill it."

"That's your genius plan?"

"Do you have a better one?"

"No but I _am_ kind of dying right now."

When I look at her, I can tell it was supposed to be a joke but neither of us find it very funny.

"Okay then," I say. I hate how final it sounds.

I step forward and Laelaps barks and bares his teeth. I realise I have no way to defend myself, I am relying totally on Mary, a girl I barely know but inexplicably trust with my life.

"Come at me, you stupid mutt!" I yell. I jump, distracting him from Mary who is slowly inching forward. "_Demonio!_ You think you can take me?"

The dog surges forward. Even though it doesn't spring free from the chain, I am too close. Its teeth make contact with my skin, plunging into my leg. The pain is so intense that it takes my mind off everything else. I feel like I have left body. My screams don't sound like my own.

"Mary, NOW!" I shout but it comes out as more of a whimper.

I open my eyes in time to see the tip of my spear tear through the demon dog's skin. It howls with pain one last time before disintegrating into ash.

I hear a scream from above us. It is the old woman; I had totally forgotten about her. From my view point, I can't see her clearly but she seems to be getting smaller.

"Oh my gods, she's...crumbling!" Mary exclaims.

It's true. Like the dog, she's a pile of ashes. Their lives must have been linked somehow. I will never know; I never got the chance to ask her. Not that I am deeply saddened by her death.

I turn to Mary. "Let's get out of here?"

She gives me a small smile. "Let's get out of here."


	11. Chapter 11

Unfortunately, getting of here to Mary is struggling up the steps to the bedroom we slept in last night then passing out from pain. She wakes up at random intervals and I try to slip some nectar down her throat to heal the wound faster. My first aid skills aren't brilliant – I would never be a doctor, anyway – but I manage to stop the gaping wound in her side from bleeding although a lot of that probably had to be the effects of the godly drink taking effect. Even though her wound is no longer bleeding, it is so deep that it won't heal immediately. It might not even fully heal for days but I can't risk giving her any more nectar; even though she's annoying sometimes, I'd rather she stayed alive.

I want to get out of the awful B&B as fast as possible but Mary is in no state to be moved. I try scouting the other rooms for anything useful to our quest: some small weapons, food or any information at all about an entrance to the labyrinth...the book! In all the chaos, I had completely forgotten about the small notebook I had slipped into my backpack.

I take it out and the small triangular symbol on the spine seems to burn brighter. I try to think about the classes I'd had at Camp Half-Blood about decoding Ancient Greek symbols. I'd never really been good at that class. Children of Hermes like me don't do well in classroom situations due to our short attention spans (even by demigod standards) and the only thing I can remember is that Annabeth Chase had been in that class. She'd been a fellow camper at the time. Now she is my enemy.

I open the notebook. The pages are old and worn around the edges like they'd been turned again and again. But there is no writing. The lines of the pages are empty, almost mocking. I am so angry that I almost throw the notebook at the wall in frustration when slanted, cursive words begin to form themselves on the page:

_Property of the Maker._

"Who is the Maker?" I say out loud. The words don't change and I realise it must be a challenge. I need to figure out who the notebook belongs to before it reveals its secrets to me. I need to figure out what the Δ means.

I stare at the bookshelf that takes up most of the room. None of the books catch my eye like the notebook did but there has to be a book about Ancient Greek symbols. There is a book about training your demon dog to rollover! There _has_ to be a book about who the notebook belongs to. I run my fingers along the spines: some are old containers of scrolls and look to be from Ancient Greece itself but some are brand new. They aren't organised in any order. The complete works of Homer is next to a copy of _Twilight_ which is next to a manual about growing potted tomatoes. Some are in languages I don't even understand even if I can make out the letter with my dyslexia.

Then my eyes fall on a huge, leather-bound monstrosity. It is so big that it seems unfair to call it a book. I need both hands to pull it off the packed shelf. On its spine, Greek letters spell out σύμβολα του παλιού κόσμουwhich I think translates to "Symbols of the Old World".

"Yes!" I shout so loud that Mary groans in her state of unconsciousness.

I scan through pages and pages of useless symbols for the Olympian gods, places of worship, abbreviations. I almost give up hope when I finally spot it. The symbol is so small that I almost skip past it but I stop turning the pages just in time.

"Daedalus! Of course!" How could I have been so stupid? I knew the labyrinth was created by the old inventor, Daedalus. How could I have not put two and two together?

I ditch the huge book of symbols and pick up Daedalus's notebook again. The words I saw before are still stubbornly displayed on the page. I fish a pen out of my backpack and write _Daedalus_.

Nothing happens for too long. Then, the words change:

_Welcome._

I watch as the pages fill themselves with drawings, diagrams, doodles and countless notes. The same cursive writing, sometimes in English and sometimes in Greek, has obliterated the pages with ideas far beyond the Ancient Greek times. There are rough sketches of planes and flushing toilets and I realise that Daedalus must have been some crazy genius to have thought of all this stuff.

About halfway through the notebook, a list catches my eye. There are no drawings on the page, no doodles or random notes like "Come back to idea of metal wings?" It's so simple that it stands out. It is a list of places: Long Island, Alcatraz, Texas, Washington State, Manhattan, San Francisco, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Tartarus...Bishop! There are scribbles in Greek which must provide more details about the other locations but right now I don't care about them. I focus on deciphering the message under Bishop. It takes me a good few minutes – my Ancient Greek is not as great as it could be – and I finally get something.

"Miss Hayley's Bait and Tackle?"

It's not much to go on. It's virtually nothing, actually, but it's the best lead we've got so far.

Mary begins to stir in the next bed. "What happened?" she groans, "Why are we still here?"

"You passed out," I reply, already shoving Daedalus's notebook into my backpack and tugging on my shoes. "Are you ready to go? Because we need to pay a visit to a certain Miss Hayley."


	12. Chapter 12

After Mary has taken a few more sips of nectar, she feels good enough to walk though incredibly slowly. She keeps wincing with pain every so often which made me feel bad for her at first but is now pretty annoying.

The centre of Bishop is crawling with tourists and street vendors selling sea-themed junk. If I wasn't on a quest, I would probably stop to think about how my mom would probably love a place like this. It's beautiful. The narrow terraced houses painted in pastel hues, the smell of the sea in the air, the cafes with their chequered tablecloths...it is postcard perfect and I keep wishing she was here in a way that is awfully cliché. We pass a few bait-and-tackle shops but none called Miss Hayley's.

"What kind of name is Miss Hayley's for a bait store, anyway?" Mary huffs as she struggles to keep her pace next to me. Maybe I'm being mean since it's not her fault she got mauled by a man-eating dog but after figuring out the clues in the notebook – the notebook I hadn't even told Mary about – I feel a much stronger fire in the pit of my stomach that keeps me moving forward.

"Look, Mary, I didn't choose the name, okay?" I snap at her. I feel guilty for not feeling worse about being annoyed at an injured girl but I don't apologise. Maybe it's the heat of the burning summer sun or maybe I'm just one of those guys. "We can't stop and waste any more time. We're already on the second day of our quest and we haven't even found an entrance to the labyrinth! We're losing time!"

I don't notice that Mary isn't following me anymore until I realise that she hasn't groaned for about a minute. I double back and find her leaning against the pale pink wall of a teashop, clutching her knees. A man – a tourist judging by his huge backpack and the camera slung around his neck – is patting her shoulder in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Since it turned out that a little old lady that ran a B&B turned out to be the owner of the most vicious dog alive, I don't trust this guy.

"Hey!" I call out when I'm a few steps away, "What happened?"

Instead of Mary, the guy looks at me and answers which makes me angry for some reason. He says, "The young lady said she feels sick. You her boyfriend? You should look after you girl a little better, fella. I think it's the heat. You know they say that nothing helps a little heatstroke like coconut water and –"

"Okay, thanks," I say shortly. "I can handle it from here."

The man shrugs in a fake happy-to-help way and walks away but not before shooting Mary a disgusting winning smile and a wink. "Take care now, miss."

"I don't need your help, Rodriguez," Mary says angrily. She must be in a lot of pain because her tone isn't nearly as sharp as usual and I find that I kind of miss the sting. "I'm fine."

"Doesn't look like it," I joke feebly. I dig around my bag for some ambrosia squares and hand one to Mary. She wolfs it down and immediately some colour returns to her face. "You okay?"

"I'm _fine_."

"Listen, I'm sorry I snapped at you, alright? I didn't mean to – it's just that we've lost so much time and –"

"And it's my fault," Mary says. I think she aimed for it come out angry but it comes out a little regretful.

"What? No!" I protest, "I wasn't going to say that!"

"Don't pretend like you didn't think it, Chris," Mary says quietly, "It was _my _fault we stayed at that B&B, it was _me_ that wandered off by herself and got attacked and now it's _me_ that can't walk for five minutes without almost passing out. _I'm _holding up the quest and I know it, okay?"

She feels like she's losing. I can tell. I don't want to be mad at her anymore.

"What are you talking about?" I run my hands through my hair and face her, looking her dead in the eyes. "Look, if you hadn't chosen to stay at that awful place, we would never have even come close to finding out about the entrance at Miss Hayley's and it was _you_ that killed Laelaps. You did good, okay?"

"Okay." Mary's voice is so small that I think she's still mad at herself but her eyes don't look sad. In fact they look happier than I have ever seen them and it makes my stomach dip a little.

"Okay. So let's find Miss Hayley."

* * *

We've been walking for over an hour, heading from the centre to the outskirts of town, and we've found nothing. None of the locals seem to have heard of Miss Hayley's Bait and Tackle and I was starting to get frustrated again. We're a good few blocks away from the centre of the town and the buildings have begun to lose their fairytale looks. There are hardly any stores and most of the buildings are houses that look like they belong to people poorer than those who can afford tea in one of the Main Street cafes. The houses are so close to the ocean that I'm sure the residents' backyard must flood whenever the tide comes in which must be dangerous but they must be too poor to do anything about it.

I begin to suggest we turn back around when a splash of colour catches my eyes. Tucked in between two grey-bricked houses with their blond drawn shut is a door painted bright red. It seems like the oddest burst of colour amidst its surroundings with its vibrant rainbow-coloured welcome mat and window panes painted red to match the door. But what makes my heart leap is the brightly painted sign fixed to the wall.

"Miss Hayley's Bait and Tackle!" I laugh as I feel a weight lift from my chest. Mary laughs too, clutching her injured side, probably from relief. I dare to pray to the gods that we won't encounter another monster in the store.

Mary seems to fear the same thing because starts to frown. "What if it's dangerous? What if this is a trap?"

I shake my head and say, "We have no other choice. The next closest location is in New York City, I think. We have to go in."

I stride confidently up to the door and I hear Mary follow after me. There is no knocker so I push the door open and step through the doorway.

Inside is the strangest store I have ever seen in my life. There are windows _everywhere_ when I could swear there weren't any when you looked from the outside. They're made from coloured glass and they light up the store in rainbow colours where the sunlight pours through them. I can feel a sea breeze ruffle my hair even though none of the windows are actually open and the door has closed behind Mary. It makes the hundreds of wind chimes – made from shells, fishing hooks, sea glass and even Celestial bronze – ring. The brightly coloured shelves are stocked with regular bait but also packets labelled _Hippocampi Feed: Now with 50% EXTRA_.

"I think we're in the right place," Mary whispers. It is as if she thinks that if she speaks too loudly, this rainbow-coloured illusion will shatter and a monster will leap out from behind the sea-serpent bait.

"My darlings, of course you are!" comes a voice from behind us. It is so high and melodic that it is hard to tell it apart from the sound of the wind chimes.

From a doorway I hadn't noticed, emerges the most beautiful lady I have ever seen. She's tall, almost as tall as the doorway, dresses in a vibrant blue organza dress that looks similar to a Greek chiton. Long blonde hair falls in waves down to her waist and her eyes are a deep sea-green. Strangely, her skin seems to be slightly blue but her expression is so kind and gentle that I immediately warm towards her.

I don't realise my mouth is open until Mary digs me in the ribs.

"Are you Miss Hayley?" she asks. The woman must have had an effect on her too because her voice sounds calmer than I've ever heard it.

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose I am," the lady smiles kindly, "My real name is Haliae but it confuses the mortals so I adopted the name Hayley." They way she says 'mortals' isn't degrading or condescending like I've heard some of the crew members say on the _Princess Andromeda_ which makes me like her even more.

"Are you a goddess?" I ask.

Hayley – or Haliae, whatever – laughs. Her laugh is sweet and makes her skin flush slightly blue. "No," she says, "I am a sea nymph. This area of the sea is and has been under my control for centuries. It's my job to keep it clean and healthy, you know? But it's been hard in the past few decades. So much pollution, so much rubbish..." She sniffs like she's trying not to cry and straightens a box of what looks like regular fish bait on the counter. "I've played the Miss Hayley persona for years but it's getting harder every day. There have been disturbances at sea; the fish talk, you know. The old gods are wakening...oh!"

She turns to face us so suddenly that Mary steps backwards into a display of fishing hooks. "I'm so sorry, children! I shouldn't be so gloomy! Where are my manners? May I interest you in some bait? Some tackle, perhaps?"

"Actually," I say slowly, "We were looking for an entrance to the labyrinth? Daedalus's labyrinth? DO you know anything about it?"

Miss Hayley's eyes turn the colour of the ocean in the middle of a storm and her blue-tinged skin seems to turn kind of grey, like storm clouds. But she doesn't look angry, she looks...upset. "The labyrinth, children?"

"We're on a quest," Mary explains, "We need to find a way inside the labyrinth. Can you help us?"

Some tears escape from Miss Hayley's eyes and trickle down her cheek. "But you're so young, my dears," she sniffs, "They've sent you to do this? But you're children!" She shakes her head and wipes the tears from her face. "They gods...sometimes, I think they should do their own fighting, leave the poor babies out of this. I can't – I can't let you in there. Do you know of the horrors that await you in that monstrous place? Every day I have to live with the knowledge that it's _here_ in my shop. Did Daedalus ever _ask _me? No! But you did, and I'm sorry I have to say no."

"Miss Hayley, you don't understand!" I say desperately, "We _need_ this! Please!"

The sea nymph cries harder and I look at Mary. She looks at me with the same desperate look on her face. Neither of us knows what to do with a distraught sea nymph.

"You poor kids," she sobs, "I suppose I have to – I can't mess with the Fates. It is inevitable that you must enter the labyrinth. Follow me."

She leads the way to the back of the store. The floor here isn't the same hardwood as the rest of the shop but is covered by a coloured crocheted rug. Miss Hayley pulls it away to reveal a dull brown trapdoor. It is so completely in contrast with the rest of the shop, as if it knows that what it holds at bay can never be compared to fish food and rainbow coloured windows.

"This is it?" I ask pointlessly. I know it must be because as soon as Miss Hayley touches it, a gold Δ emerges on the wood. When she opens the door, a steep set of stone stairs that remind me much too much of the ones at the B&B are revealed.

"I have to warn you again how dangerous it is," Miss Hayley frets. She is wringing the material of her dress so hard that actual salt water is leaking from the material. "Don't take this lightly, children. If you go in there, you might never come out."

One hundred and one things flash through my mind all at once: is it really worth risking my life – and Mary's life – for this? It is likely that Luke will get all the glory. I might never see my mother again. I might never get a chance to grow up, have a girlfriend, go to college...But I know I have to do this because the Titan army needs me to. This is my quest and I am a soldier. I will play a crucial role in the reawakening of the Titan Lord and he will reward me, I know it. I have to do this or I will die a coward and a traitor back on the _Princess Andromeda_.

I turn to Miss Hayley and say, "Thank you, for everything. But we have to do this." I am surprised by how determined and sure I sound though doubts are still ringing in my ears.

I face Mary and ask, "Ready?"

She nods, just as sure as I am.

We descend down the trapdoor to the dark fate that lies before us.


	13. Chapter 13

As we were descending down the stairs, it seemed that the apparently endless stairs would lead to a dark room since we couldn't spot any light from above. But when my feet touch solid ground, torches blaze to life in their sconces. It takes me by surprise and I instinctively take a few steps back, knocking into Mary who bites back a scream; I've crashed into her bad side.

"Gods, Mary, I'm sorry," I whisper but she's already waving her hand dismissively before I even finish.

"Just go forward," she croaks.

The room is cavernous, the ceiling so high that it disappears into blackness. I think I can spot some support beams which suggest that there is a roof somewhere but I can't be sure. The floor is a mosaic: an amazing kaleidoscope of colours pieced together to show grazing deer, birds in flight, naiads celebrating and nymphs dancing. The towering walls are decorated with beautiful tapestries that are so lifelike that at first I think they must be photos. The coloured silk threads that make up the pictures seem to ripple and move, giving the images life. In them, larger-than-life gods and goddesses feast and laugh, tipping their heads back in laughter; a pair of lovers share an embrace, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes; creatures of the woods, satyrs and tree nymphs, play their reed instruments and seem to laugh invitingly at us. There doesn't seem to be an exit – just the stairs we came through – but why would I want to leave anyway?

It's all so beautiful that it makes me want to drop my heavy backpack and just _rest _for a while. It makes my stomach rumble to see the heavy-laden tables the gods feast from, makes me want to join them. I know I deserve a break – when was the last time I even had one? I could stay, eat, drink, dance and –

"The room, it's enchanted!" I shout. I didn't mean for it to come out so loud but the realisation escapes from my mouth and echoes around the room.

I turn to face Mary who is aggressively rubbing her temples as if meaning to clear away the overpoweringly tempting thoughts which I know must be going through her head. "It must be designed to make us want to stay," she says, "It's an elaborate trap."

Silently, I curse myself. How could we have walked straight into a trap? Then I remember that we hadn't had a choice: the labyrinth was designed to trick us, trap us...kill us.

"Well, what do we do?" I ask Mary quietly, unsurprised by how hopeless my voice sounds.

"We don't eat from _that_, that's for sure," Mary says, pointing to a table like the ones in the tapestries, which has materialised in the centre of the room.

The table is still forming when I turn to look at it. Parts of it seem real and the other parts, the areas which haven't yet been manifested, look to be woven from smoke. Even in its half-formed state, I can see how beautiful it is. It is draped with a deep red, like wine, with golden embroideries of the gods' symbols. Roast chicken, exotic fruits and desserts emerge from the swirling smoke. Though they can't be real, I swear I can smell them and taste them on my tongue.

Involuntarily, I take a step forwards, my hand reaching out to pick up a delicious-looking ice-cream sundae...

"Chris, _no_!" Mary yells from behind me, "It could be dangerous! We need to leave right now."

I feel a twinge of annoyance in my gut. Why does Mary have to bring me down all the time? I should just take the sundae, ignore her. "Mary we can't leave anyway," I say, "There's no door and Miss Hayley's shut the trapdoor. We might as well stay."

"This isn't fair!" Mary shouts, "We need a choice! We can't be left here and we _won't _try the food, do you hear me?" I don't know who she is yelling at because it's not me. Her eyes seem to be everywhere but me – the ceiling, the tapestries, the table. "We know this is a trick and we won't be fooled."

"Mary who are you even yelling at?" As far as I can tell, we are alone.

When Mary looks at me, some fight seems to have gone out of her eyes. "I was sure that...Never mind. Don't take the food, Chris. Just look at what the table is made of."

I had just assumed that the table would be made from wood but Mary's disgusted look tells me I must be wrong. I take a closer look. Under the swathes of fabric, the wood – or whatever it is – is white. Are those...

"_Bones?"_

I hurriedly take a few steps back from the table.

"Probably bones of the people who gave in to the feast's charms," Mary says solemnly, "We won't be one of them. But I was sure that if I made that clear, _something _would happen – we'd be given some sort of task or choice."

"A choice, my dear?" A low, gravelly voice seems to come from nowhere. When Mary and I turn to look at the table, a throne-like chair made from bleached white bones has manifested at the head of the table. In it, sits one of the weirdest looking men I have ever seen.

He is dressed in a neat, black suit and tie. From his neck down, he looks like any other man would, except maybe paler. But it's from his neck up that the strangeness begins. Where his head should be were two heads, his neck splitting into two faces that look out to either the left or right. It was impossible to look him in the eye from standing in front of him; you had to make a choice – right or left?

"You're Janus," Mary says quietly, "I've read about you."

"Good to see we're still making the history books," the right side sneers sarcastically, "Whoopee!"

"Behave!" the left side snaps. It is probably the weirdest thing I have ever seen. "Yes, I am Janus, the god of beginnings and endings...and choices."

"You asked for a choice, girlie, so here we are," the right side of Janus's face said, "Choose."

Janus clicked his fingers and the table disappeared, fading as slowly into smoke as it had come. It was replaced by two doors, both exactly the same non-descriptive shade of brown with brass handles. One on the left, one on the right.

"Choose left, dear children," the left face smiled. "Danger and death does surely lie before it, but it is possible that you may avoid it for _much_ longer if you choose left."

"Choose right," the right face coaxed, "You don't want to suffer in here for much longer, do you? Better face your demons sooner rather than later."

Mary and I look at each other, torn. We know that no matter which door we choose, we will be faced with more tests, test which will be significantly harder than this one, and which may even lead to their deaths.

"We have to pick one," Mary whispers to me.

I know. I don't know if I have ever felt so indecisive about anything before in my life. All through life, I have been able to make decisions quickly, on the spot. Making friends, failing classes, keeping away from other demigods at Camp Half-Blood – they'd all been choices that had been easy to make. Even deciding to join Kronos's army had been an easy decision; at least I'd had some incentive to do it. But now I am faced with two guesses, that's what they are. I don't know anything about what lies behind either door.

Doesn't that only mean I can't be too surprised when they both hold awful fates behind them?

"It doesn't matter," I whisper back to Mary, "Janus wants us to think that it matters which door we take so we will always wonder what would have happened if we'd taken the other. If we think too deeply into this, we'll end up going crazy, thinking 'what if' after everything that goes wrong. But really, our fates won't be greatly changed no matter which door we take."

"I guess you're right," Mary says reluctantly. It's the best solution we've got.

"I guess it doesn't matter," I say, sounding more confident than I feel, "Neither choice is the right choice."

I feel a small seed of hope when I see both of Janus's faces fall. I know I am right; there will be no regret in my decision. I stride towards the left door at random and I hear Mary follow behind me.

"Nice meeting you, fellas," I say.

Then we're gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: I apologise for how long it's been since I last updated. I have got serious writer's block because it seemed to me like I'd taken on this challenge that was far too big. There is no way I could write everything that could have potentially happened in Chris's life because that would take ****_so long_****. There's a reason why there are 5 books in the PJO series, I guess, and why what goes on in the labyrinth has a book to itself. So I'm sorry if it seems quite choppy but I can't say everything I want to so I'm going to put in the parts which I think works best from my plan.**

**(Also, hi new readers!)**

* * *

Time passes incoherently in the labyrinth. I don't know whether we've been walking for hours or days or weeks. I think about Luke back on the _Princess Andromeda._ I wonder if enough time has passed for him to begin to worry about me. No, he wouldn't worry; Luke is not the worrying type. He is so thick-skinned that I'd be surprised if he worried about _anyone, _let alone someone as insignificant to him as me. Perhaps what I mean to say is that I wonder if he thinks about me, whether he considers my absence a loss or whether he's already sent out a replacement to take my place in search of a way to navigate the labyrinth.

_Brother_.

I ignore the word ringing in my head and decide it's most likely that it's the latter.

It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is my own personal quest. Well, mine and Mary's. Since leaving Janus, we encountered a few fights – automatons, a hydra, and inexplicably a small army of _karpoi_ – so her wound had taken longer to heal than it should have with nectar and ambrosia. Because she can't attend to the dressing, it's been up to me to change the bandages and salves to stop it from getting infected. I don't want to admit it but it's not exactly a job I mind doing. It's nice, therapeutic even, unwinding the roll of bandages, feeling the cool of the slave on my fingers fading as my fingers brush against Mary's skin. I don't let myself think about it too much; something about it makes my hart pound too loud and that's a dangerous thing when either of us could die any minute.

"Old or new?" Mary asks.

It's a game that we've come up with in the past few days, or however long we've been down here. After going through the door Janus conjured from the air, we weren't met by any immediate threats to our death. Instead, we'd found ourselves standing at a crossroads: two long corridors branched off from where we stood, one old and crumbling and the other shiny and new. We'd agreed that it was more logical to follow the old path. We'd figured that if we followed the older routes, we'd get to the heart of the labyrinth quicker but we'd soon found ourselves in a modern warehouse-style room where we were promptly attacked by possessed automatons. (Long story, maybe for another time. Needless to say, it hadn't been a pleasant experience. I think my last pleasant experience ever may have been the last cheeseburger I ate on the ship before leaving). But since then, we'd figured that there was no logic in the labyrinth. No matter which way we went, nothing would make sense and we'd most certainly be greeted by some form of demigod-hungry creature. So we made a game out of it: old or new?

"We went new last time," I reply, "Old."

The corridor we'd been walking down had had stone walls, dimly lit with blazing torches in sconces. The floor had been old, bumpy and weathered, slippery with water from a non-existent source. I expect another sudden change. Much of the labyrinth had been erratic, running together old architecture and art from centuries apart. None of it makes sense. It is like the result of someone having tried to copy and paste lyrics from songs from all different genres: hectic, confusing and, too frequently, painful.

But surprisingly, we continue down the same dark path. I feel along the walls for something to hold on to in case I slip because the ground below has become increasingly slippery. I hope and even have the audacity to pray that it is water, not blood, that the ground is wet with.

"There's no end to this tunnel," Mary complains softly. I see her face is ashen, paler than usual. The ways she walks, slowly and putting little pressure on her injured side, suggests to me like she needs a rest.

"Maybe we should stop for today?" I suggest carefully. I don't want the suggestion to sound patronising. I have learned the hard way that a blow to Mary's pride can result in a long rant about how she's _perfectly fine_, thanks very much, and just because she's a _girl _and she's _injured_ doesn't mean she's _incapable_, gods. "We've come a long way."

Mary scowls but there's no malice in it. I think in the past few days she's figured out my method of avoiding her tirades. She humours me, snapping and faking anger but the jokiness doesn't hide very effectively behind her words.

"What_ever_, Rodriguez," she says, rolling her eyes, "If you're tired. When did you turn into such a princess?"

I bite back a smile and look around our surroundings instead. I don't want Mary to think that I actually _like_ her or think she's funny. Something about that is scarier than whatever monster lies at the end of the corridor. What I find is that the corridor is much too narrow for us to lie down. If a monster came barrelling down it while we were asleep, it wouldn't give us enough time to get up and we'd most likely be trampled to death in our sleep.

"But maybe we should carry on until it widens out a bit," Mary says, voicing my thoughts.

We continue on in silence until the corridor opens out into a wide cavern. It is almost like we are back in the room where we encountered Janus. The ceiling is invisible but it must exit because chains hang down like some vicious party streamers from the ceiling, creating a kind of net above our heads hundreds of feet above us. The walls are lined with shelves which are heavily stocked with tools like saws, wrenches, blow torches and more...except they're all ten times bigger than human tools. Whatever lives here is huge. And smelly. The air reeks of old sweat and rotting food.

I groan. "Just this once, could we not have stumbled across a five-star hotel with beds and down comforters and room service?"

"Shut up, Princess Rodriguez," Mary whispers, "Listen."

The room is buzzing with the sound of heavy machinery but the noise which rings even louder sounds like...snoring?

"Whatever lives here is sleeping," Mary says quietly, "Which means we can probably hide behind a machine and sleep here for tonight as long as we're up early. Well, earlier than the monster, anyway."

"Sounds good to me."

We find a machine which looks like it won't shoot fire or kill us if we sleep behind it. It's a small camp but it'll suffice since it's big enough for us to roll out or sleeping bags and blankets. I munch on some travel mix and wish for some hot food, even my mom's chilli con carne. I realise how much I miss it, how much I miss the taste of it and even the smell of it. The smell of chilli means mom and mom means being safe. Nothing bad had ever happened to me when I was at home with her. I like to think she is my good-luck charm; she stops the monsters from getting to me. I wonder where she is now, what she's doing. I wonder if she quit her job and got a new one, one where her boss wouldn't treat her like dirt. I wonder if she's sent letters to Camp Half-Blood, letters which are unread and unanswered because I'm not there. I'm not sure if the Camp has even told her I'm gone. She might not even know I'm alive. I wonder if she worries about me, if she wants me home safe, or whether she's glad that she doesn't have to worry about being called into school to deal with her delinquent kid. I want to believe she misses me. I know I miss her.

As if she was reading my thoughts, Mary says, "I miss home-cooked meals." She sighs and sounds like she misses her past like I miss mine. I try to think of what life must have been like for her before Camp Half-Blood but she's hard to read and I can't guess. "Even the camp barbecue. I hate having trail mix and ambrosia every night. I hate not having a bed to sleep in. I hate this choice I made."

That takes me by surprise. I choke on my trail mix and have to cough several times before I can breathe again. On the boat, we weren't allowed to say anything against our cause, against Kronos. There were some kids that did and I remember seeing them the day after they'd been caught saying bad things with black eyes and gashes on their faces and arms. Some never even came back; I hate to think what might have happened to them. We needed to know, twenty-four seven, that we had made a good choice. The right choice, the choice which would liberate us from the gods' oppression and lead to a brighter future. To hear Mary speak like this still makes me scared even though we're thousands of miles away from the boat.

"Mary..." I say slowly, beginning a sentence but not knowing how to continue it. But it doesn't matter anyway because Mary puts up a hand t silence me.

"No," she says so quietly that I have to strain to hear her over the whir of the machinery, "I _want_ to say this. I _have _to say this. I hate that I chose to join Kronos's army. I did it for my mom and at the time it felt right but I knew from the second that I got on that boat that I'd made the wrong decision. It's been killing me inside knowing that – I can't _stand_ being wrong, Chris, you know that. I keep feeling like this is not what anybody would put kids through. I know that we did some intense training at camp but...what went on aboard the ship, especially to the weaker or rebellious kids...no great god would want that. If Kronos is this all powerful Titan, he wouldn't need kids to fight his battles. He wouldn't need to take control of a band of children. He'd have more power at his hands – he'd have his _own_ hands for gods' sakes! I don't want to do this anymore. This quest has made me realise that this isn't what I want. This isn't the path I was meant to follow and I won't find victory at the end of this road. If I get out of here alive, I swear I'm leaving this army. I _swear_ I'm leaving."

I let her words ring through me. How often had I felt the same way? Felt like this road was the wrong one? Felt that this way of life was unfair, cruel? Mary has the guts to say this all out loud and I've kept it all bottled up. But now, I think that if Mary can think about leaving, I can too. I'll leave. If we get out of the labyrinth, I won't go back to Luke. I'll go see my mom. I'll tell her sorry. Maybe I'll go back to Camp if they'll have me. Maybe I'll go to high school and even college...

"What are you thinking?" Mary asks quietly. I realise I haven't responded to anything she's said and I feel guilty.

"I'm thinking that I want to get out, too," I say, "And when I do, I'll go see my mom."

Mary smiles. It's a rare, genuine smile which makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. She looks so much better than she did before, as if she has finally lost a heavy burden from her shoulders. She looks beautiful.

"When I leave," she says, "I'll have breakfast at Tiffany's; I've always wanted to."

"I'll learn how to make chilli."

"I'll start running again and win some races – I'll will _all_ the races."

"I'll make some friends."

"That's not fair," Mary cuts in, frowning, "You already have friends."

I think about it. Jacinto and Mark seem like people from a history book they're from so long ago. I doubt they remember me or even think about me much. I might have considered Luke as someone I could call a friend, once upon a time, but not anymore. My roommate, Ethan Nakamura's a nice guy, but I don't know if he's a friend. Mary...I don't know if I want to label Mary as a friend. So I say, "No I don't, not really."

"Stupid, _I'm _your friend, ok?"

"Only you could make being friends sound like a threat," I laugh. I try to joke about but I feel a surge of warmth towards Mary. I don't want to say how grateful I am because I'm not sure what it might lead to. I'm scared of what might happen if I say I like her and of what might not. I'm scared she'll like me back and then we'll be separated. I'm scared she'll be freaked out and keep a distance.

But I _want_ to say it. I want to tell her. I might never get the chance and I know that you end up regretting the things you didn't say more than the things you did. I regret not telling my mom I was joining this army. I regret not telling Luke that this isn't a cause I want to die for. I don't want to regret not telling Mary that I like her. So I'll say it.

"Okay," I say, "When I leave, I'll go on a date with a girl for the first time. We'll go get coffee and I'll tell her that I really like her so we should do this more often. She'll agree. She'll be pretty and smart and really good at winning races. After she wins all the gold medals, we'll go to my apartment that I'll buy and eat chilli."

When I look at Mary, she's not smiling. Her eyes are watery and I think I have offended her. But then she leans forwards and wraps her arms around my neck. I should think about the fact that somewhere, a monster is waiting to kill us. I should think about the war brewing against the gods. I should think of everything that is at stake but I don't.

I think about how the last time anyone hugged me was my mom when she dropped me off at Camp Half-Blood for the last time. I think about how I've missed this warmth, this being with a person and feeling like you love them. I think about how Mary smells like apricots and also a little like me. I think about how her arms feel around my neck, like they're protecting me, like home. I think about how perfectly her head fits into space between my shoulder and my head. I think about how her tears are making my t-shirt damp and about how I don't mind. I think about how I'd be fine just doing this forever.

"It was mean, Chris," she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder, "It was mean of you to say that."

"I know," I say, surprised by how my voice chokes, "I'm sorry."

"Do you mean it, though? When we leave, can we really do that? Because I would."

"Yes, we can do that," I say and it tastes like a lie.

And then we're kissing. It feels like I have never been more alive, like I'm finally waking up happy after being alone all this time. It tastes like trail mix and hope and like the promise of coffee dates and a new apartment and a future outside this labyrinthine maze.

But it ends all too soon.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't know when I fell asleep but now I am wide awake. There is a pain which burns through my chest which dragged me from my dreams. I don't know what it is. I try to scream but there is no air in my lungs. I feel like throwing up but the pressure on my chest prevents me from even drawing breath. I try to call Mary's name but I have no voice.

There is nothing but pain.

Then, there is darkness.

* * *

When I wake again, my body aches. My vision is blurred and there is a pounding in my head like too many thoughts are stampeding through my brain. It feels like I have been bound, restricted, so I try to stretch. But I can't. I have been bound! When I look down, I see the ground at least ten feet below me and my hands...my hand are strapped to my sides using those chains I saw dangling from the ceiling when we came in.

I try to look for where we set up our small camp so I can shout out to Mary and tell her to run but my eyes still haven't adjusted and, from way up here, everything looks the same. I could be looking in totally the wrong place. And, though I try to stop myself from thinking it, Mary could be dead by now.

"Let him go, you ugly troll!" Mary yells from somewhere below me. She's not dead! A surge f relief calms the pounding in my head and I strain my eyes trying to see her but I can't.

A huge figure looms into view, blocking out pretty much everything else from my sight. The shape is human, definitely a man, but it's larger than any human I have ever seen before. Easily twenty feet tall, its head grazes some of the lower chains. Its hair is long and matted and a dull brown colour, tied back in a braid which is woven with nuts and bolts and screws. But its hands are what make it clear that this is no human: its arms are as thick as tree trunks and criss-crossed with scars, so long that his knuckles graze the floor. No human would have arms like that.

The monster laughs. The sound rumbles like thunder and echoes around the room, making it sound like there were a thousand versions of him hiding in the shadows. If I couldn't see him in front of me, I would never have figured out where the laugh was coming from.

"Mary, I'm up here!" I yell, hoping to divert the monster's attention from her and also to let her know that I was alive.

The monster roars with rage, whirling around to face me. And I finally know what it is: a Cyclops. One large eye sits in the middle of his face and as soon as it looks at me, I am paralysed again but this time with fear. It brings back too many memories of almost dying at the hands of a Cyclops just a few years ago. I barely escaped with my life then; I don't know if I will be able to escape again.

"Mary, I'm up here!" the Cyclops bellows and his voice sounds exactly like mine. The shout echoes all around the room so it will be impossible for Mary to locate me.

"Let him go!" I hear Mary say but the Cyclops just laughs.

"Now you know I can't do that, my sweet," he cackles, "I don't get much fresh demigod blood out here, you know. The occasional lost milkman or pizza delivery boy, yes, but the taste of mortal blood is not enough to satisfy my hunger. I haven't had a demigod in years! It would be foolish to let him go. And as or you, you'll look beautiful in a cage; you can be my new plaything!"

His stupid speech riles me but it seems to have given Mary confidence. She pulls out her sword from her pocket (a standard issue form the _Princess Andromeda_ armoury, made from Celestial bronze which is enchanted to be folded and put away when not in use) and swings it at the Cyclops's leg. It makes a small but deep gash on his bare foot and Mary uses his momentary distraction to use his oversized jeans as a sort of climbing frame. By grabbing handfuls of the fabric, she shimmies up his leg faster than he can flick her off. It takes him too long to swing his huge, heavy fists and by the time he has dragged his hand from the ground, Mary is already up to his shoulder.

"Hey, buttface!" she shouts, "Take this!" She jams her sword into the side of his neck and the Cyclops roars in pain. She uses his huge nose as a platform to jump off and grab hold of one of the overhanging chains. "I'm nobody's _plaything_!"

"Mary, over here!" I yell and this time she sees me. The relief on her face gives me a newfound confidence. If I could kill one Cyclops before I'd even had any training, I could kill this one.

The Cyclops has found Mary dangling right above his head and swings his arm to knock her down. But she's too fast, swinging out of the way towards me before his fist can connect. She swings close enough to me to cut my bonds, the metal giving away easily to Celestial bronze, and I have to grab on to a nearby chain to stop myself from plummeting to my death.

"Always knew I'd end up having to save you, Princess," Mary grins.

But she doesn't see it coming. I shout for her to look out but I'm too slow. The Cyclops swings his arm and this time, his fist connects with Mary. She's taken by surprise and lets go of her chain, falling ten feet to the ground.

The blow will kill her. There is no way she could survive that fall. She's dead.

I can't have let her die like this. I can't let the Cyclops live.

With a yell, I spring from my own chain, landing on the monster's shoulder. He was not expecting me to be free and doesn't react fast enough. I pull my own sword, an exact same replica of Mary's, and swing once – fast – before rolling out of the way. My swing catches the side of his thick neck and he bellows in rage.

"Insolent demigod!" he howls, trying to twist his neck to get a better view of me, "You will pay for that!"

"Not today I won't," I say.

I grab hold of one of the chains and swing away, towards the ground. As I predicted he would, the Cyclops follows. His one eye doesn't help with his peripheral vision and he doesn't see the chain right in front of his feet. The chain acts as a tripwire and he crashes to the floor, inches away from Mary's fallen body.

I plan to take advantage of his position while I can but I'm too slow. Mary beats me to it! She's not dead! The Cyclops's confused and dazed face is within her reach and she plungers her sword into his eye with a cry which may be a battle cry or could easily be a cry of pain.

But regardless, the Cyclops erupts into a cloud of dust with one last outraged bellow of "Not again!"

I rush to Mary's side. "Mary! You're alive!"

But even though she manages a weak smile, I know that she's beyond my help. Her body is twisted at an unnatural angle. A human spine should not bend that way. Her skull is fractured and blood is leaking from her wound fast. No amount of nectar and ambrosia could restore her in time to keep her alive. I have seen her covered in blood too many times now. I can't bear it. I can't bear to know that my last mage of her will be a broken girl with ashen skin, a ghost of a smile on her face.

This can't be how my first love ends.

"Mary..." I start to say but I don't know how to follow. The words are choking me, clogging my throat and making it hard to breathe. They can't keep her here but maybe they can take me with her. I realise that I'm crying and I can't stop it.

"Hey," she says, her voice so faint that it is barely a whisper, "I won, Princess. I killed it. What are you crying about?"

I manage a laugh but it's not a laugh at all. It is a sob and I can't hold it back.

"This was your quest, Chris," she sighs, "Finish it. Finish it for me, ok? When you do, I'll start running again, ok? And we can go for coffee and – "

She doesn't finish. She's gone.

_she'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgone_

* * *

Once there was a girl called Mary and I realised too late that I loved her.

Now there is a broken corpse and a future I will never have.

There is nothing here for me anymore.

There is no cause to fight for, no future to live for.

I have given everything I have for this stupid army and they have taken the best of me. There is nothing left to give.

I give up.

_I give up_.


	16. Chapter 16

"Hey, Princess, wake up!" Mary says. Her voice drags me from my deep sleep. When I open my eyes, I see her inches away from my face. The morning light makes her look so pretty and soft, the sun making the blonde strands of her hair glow gold.

"You've been asleep for _twelve_ hours!" Mary says, shoving me to make me sit up.

I can believe it. My muscles ache so much that I would be willing to roll back over and fall right back to sleep.

"No, no, no!" Mary laughs, "No more going back to sleep. We have a labyrinth to get out of, remember?"

"Fine," I grumble but I'm not mad. I can't be mad at her. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. And she is mine. I forget the tiredness that I feel in my bones and instead, I feel like I could kiss her. I reach out my hand to touch her face but she giggles and pulls away. I lean in closer and closer but my hand never touches her skin.

"Stop it!" she laughs, "Just wake up!"

And I do. When I do, it is not morning and it is not night. I have no sense of time but too much of it on my hands. There is no light. There is no Mary.

* * *

I spend my time walking aimlessly through the labyrinthine corridors. I turn left and right, down old paths and new, but I don't think about where I am going. Every hallway looks the same and with each step, my quest becomes more and more meaningless. There is no one out there looking for me or missing me. No one will cry if I don't come back. But at least I will stop feeling this emptiness inside me. If I walked straight into the jaws of a monster, I wouldn't have the will to put up a fight. In fact, I'd welcome it.

And I would welcome this escape from the Marys. Around every corner, she is there. Sometimes, she is laughing, telling me to hurry up. She is so real then that I want to reach out and touch her, make sure she is real, but I am never quick enough or close enough. She is easy to love at those times. Other times, she is crying, telling me it is my fault she died. She is right and I know it. I want to apologise to her but she never listens. She cries and cries and I can't stop her. I can't comfort her. The thing is, it is no harder to love her; it is harder to love myself.

There is a part of me, a liar, which tells me that what happened is not my fault and that the situation was beyond my control. It tells me that it was the fault of the Cyclops that swung out and killed her. It was Luke's fault for sending her on this quest and it was Kronos's fault for stirring up this war. These thoughts are enough to convince me sometimes that I am not to blame but they never stay for long enough, never shout loud enough. In the end, it is always me that lets her take the blow. There is no end to it, no justice in her death.

Involuntarily, I remember a something which happened back on the ship. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was on it but it is less than a year. It happened in my cabin which I shared with Ethan Nakamura. He was a son of Nemesis and he was bitter. We all were, I suppose, but no one more so than Ethan. It made sense to me at that time that he would be: his mother was the goddess of revenge and to prove himself to her, he had had to sacrifice an eye. He walked around with the conviction of someone who knows that they are doing what they were destined to do. In his case, he knew it was his duty to take revenge on the gods for treating his mother as a minor, unimportant goddess. When he spoke about his allegiance to Kronos, you could hear the pride in his voice. Some of us questioned whether or not we belonged on the _Princess Andromeda_ but not Ethan. After a long day in the training rooms or a hard session of strategising, he was the perfect roommate to come back to; he was always up for a pep-talk.

This particular night, I had just come back from an intense training session. The lesson had been on effective swordplay which was not my forte. I was much better at handling spears but Luke gave out orders that we all be trained to use swords. He believed they were a superior weapon, suitable for a superior army. The use of other weapons was allowed but supply from the armouries was limited. Needless to say, I had come back with cuts and bruises and I was tired out.

"I don't know, man," I remember saying to Ethan, "I can't do this. I'm not cut out for it."

"Are we talking about swordplay or something else here?" Ethan had asked. When I didn't reply, he'd said, "Listen, Chris, we're all here for a purpose. We're here to fight for _justice_. We're all cut out for that, alright?"

I had believed him at the time. Now, I am not so sure. Where is the justice in letting a young girl die? Sure, the gods aren't around to lend a hand but neither is Kronos. I am not so sure he stands for justice.

"You're right, Chris," Mary says grimly from next to me. She looks so real. I want to believe that she is. I need to believe that she is. "There is no justice here."

And then she's gone again.


	17. Chapter 17

I don't know where I am. All I know is the dusty remains of some freshly-slain monster that cake my shoes. It turns out that even though I think about joining Mary countless times a day, when it comes down to it, I'm too afraid to let the beasts kill me. I know thirst and hunger. I know pain; so much of it that sometimes I think my bones will break under its weight. I know that I Mary comes and goes. I wish she'd stay but she's always got somewhere to be, away from me.

And right now, for the first time, I know light.

The time I have spent in this labyrinth has been dark in every sense of the word. Sometimes, the cavernous rooms are lit with torches or bright fluorescent lights, but this...this is sunlight. Soft, yellow light pours through a crack in the ceiling many feet above the ground. I don't believe it. I rub my eyes but when I look again, the light is still there, unchanged.

Is this it? Is this the way out?

I hadn't thought that I would ever get out of here but now the feeling courses through my body. I shiver with the warmth in my veins. And for the first time in a long time, I realise that I feel something besides the cold of the cave walls and the absence of Mary by my side. I dare to hope.

"So are you just going to stand there or are you actually going to do something about this?" It's Mary. She's back. The way she stands makes it look like the light is a halo around her head. She looks like one of the angels painted on the walls of the church my mom took me too sometimes. Like some kind of saviour. Except, unlike the ones in the church, she looks less serene and more irritated at my slowness.

I scan the place where I stand: the crack in the ceiling is about five or six feet above the ground. If I could get up to it, I could probably widen the gap using my sword as a sort of pick. But there are no footholds. Desperately, I try to scale the walls. They are slippery with condensation and smooth. As soon as I manage to get a foot above the ground, my foot slips and I fall. My body hits the floor with a thud that echoes around the room and ring in my head. The fall would have hurt a lot less if I wasn't so bruised and wounded already. Some time ago, I had grazed my knuckles but now the scabs have reopened and are flowing blood. My ankle, which I twisted while trying to escape some rogue _Scythian Dracanae,_ burns.

I push myself up to a sitting position and lean my head against the cool, useless walls. The supplies in my backpack have dwindled to an empty flask, one square of ambrosia which I'm saving for absolute emergencies, a few matches and a used-up first aid kit. There is nothing useful to help me get up to the crack in the ceiling.

I stay in the same position for a few minutes or possibly hours. Mary sits next to me, getting impatient but at least she's there.

And then I hear it. Footsteps.

I sit up as quickly as I can, ignoring my throbbing ankle and reaching for my sword in my pocket. I grip it tight and point it in the direction of the noise. I know I'm too tired, too worn-out and battered, to be any good against a monster right now but I won't go down without a fight.

The footsteps get louder as they come closer. I take a breath. Brace myself.

From out of the darkness, I see a humanoid figure approach. I am not fooled. So often, these monsters look humans but it doesn't take long to notice that they have the faces of animals or talons instead of hands. Some are designed to scare you, others to battle, but they're all designed to kill. It comes closer and closer and then it steps into the light...

"Mary?"

It is Mary. She is not the Mary that has been next to me all this time, not thin and pale and bearing signs of death. She is taller than I remember and healthier. She fills out her armour and her hair is longer. She looks tired but there is the same fire in her eyes, a determination to be the best.

When she sees me, she stops dead. A thousand things run through my head all at once. I want go to her, throw my arms around her. Is she as shocked to see me as I am to see her? How is she still alive? Has she been following me all this time after I left her at the Cyclops's workshop? Does all of that even matter? It's enough for me that she's here. I can't stop a laugh from bubbling up my throat.

"Mary!"

"I'm not Mary," she says. Is she joking? I just laugh. "Who are you, kid?"

"Kid?" I laugh. I can't seem to stop. "It's me, Chris. Quit it, Mary. I've missed you, okay?"

I step closer to her, put my arms out.

But she back away like I'm going to attack her. She points her sword in my direction – no, not a sword. A spear. The tip crackles with electricity and it's dangerously close to my stomach. Where did she get this?

"Mary, put your spear down," I'm not laughing any more. For some reason, I feel scared and the fear creeps into my voice. "Please."

Mary lowers her spear but she doesn't let her guard down. "Are you from Camp?" she asks.

"What? Well, yeah but –"

"Does Chiron know you're down here? Why _are_ you down here?"

"Chiron? Mary, you _know_ why we're here! Mary, please jus–"

"My name's not Mary. It's Clarisse, got it?"

No, I don't understand it. Just seconds ago, I was happier than I can remember being in my whole life but now, I feel so confused. My head swims and the room spins. I focus on Mary's face but for one second, it's not her face at all. It's the face of a girl with a round face, a big nose and anger – not determination – in her eyes. She's a girl I don't know.

The next thing I know, I'm falling. My head hits the ground with a crack and then everything is black.


	18. Chapter 18

When I open my eyes, I see darkness. For some reason, I can remember it being light. And I can remember Mary being here. But I am alone.

"Good, you're moving," comes a voice from above me. All at once, I can see the light again. A figure – Mary's figure – shifts and I see that it was her who was blocking the sun from getting it. "I could use a hand right about now."

"What are you doing?" I say. My throat feels dry and talking is probably not a good idea but I think if I go quiet, Mary will disappear again. "How did you get up there?"

"How do you _think_ I got up here? With a rope. Don't you know how to make a harness? It's a good thing I'm here." I can't help but smile. She sounds like the Mary I know now, unlike before: sarcastic and self-confident. "So are you going to give me a hand or not?"

I look up at her. She's managed to make a sloppy looking harness out of some rope and some metal grips which clasp on to the slippery walls with no problem. Where did she get those from? She's starting to use her spear – another item I didn't know she had – to push loose rocks out of the way to widen the opening in the rock face.

"Watch it!" she yells. It's a second too late as a rock the size of a golf ball smacks into my shoulder. "Just keep watch while I do this, ok? You're way too weak right now."

Though she means well, the comment stings. But I do as she says and stand guard, listening out for any attacks. It doesn't take long before the loud bangs from Mary hacking away at the rocks give me a headache. I hate feeling so weak and useless. I was supposed to be the leader of this quest but what did I do? I used up all my supplies and I killed the best friend I ever had. Somehow, she came back to me. I wouldn't be surprised if this is a trick from the gods. But right now it's all I have so I hold on to it.

"Mary, how did you get here?" I ask, "I mean, the Cyclops..."

She stops her work and sighs. "I told you, I'm not Mary. I don't know who she is, ok? I'm _Clarisse_, daughter of Ares. I'm here because Chiron sent me. Same reason as you."

"Chiron didn't send me here –" I begin but she cuts me off.

"Okay, okay, he didn't send you. You came here on your own, on vacation, whatever. The details don't bother me. I just need to get out of here."

She doesn't speak again. After what seems like an age, she stops her hammering. I look up and see the crack in the rock face is significantly larger. It's big enough for a person to get through. I have to say I'm impressed.

"That's done," Mary says. I guess she tried to hide it, but I can hear the tiredness in her voice. "It leads outside! It's a real exit!"

I feel relief more genuine than I have ever felt in my life. I want to get up there now, out of here. I feel a newfound energy and a newfound need to leave this place. The only problem is I don't know how. Mary can get out easily with her grips and her harness. But will she take me with her? I don't know if I can be sure anymore.

"Are you coming with me?" Mary asks.

Her offer, coupled with the thought of escape, is almost too good to be true. It seems like she's coming back to me, little by little, this strange new Mary. I could grow to like her again. Love her again. "Of course," I say.

Mary goes first. She hoists herself up on the harness and disappears over the top in no time. She drops down the rope and I'm stuck trying to put it together. I have never been good at knots at the best of times but now, with my hands shaking from exhaustion, I fumble with it for far too long. When I have managed to tie it around me, the effort of pulling myself up is agonizing. Too frequently, I feel like my bones are going to snap in half whenever I put pressure on them. My muscles ache in protest, my head throbs and my twisted ankle slows me down significantly.

But I don't look down. I look at the light up above me. It burns my eyes but the pain is different from that of the climb. It hurts like hope. The whole world lies above me. I meant what I said to Mary about leaving Kronos's army. I will do it. I will live on the run if I have to. I will not go back. I will get out. _I will_.

The first thing I feel is warmth. I reach up to pull myself over the edge of the opening and I feel soft, warm air against my palms. The air is humid but after all the time spent in the dank air of the labyrinth, it feels like heaven. When I push myself onto solid ground, I feel hot dust beneath my fingers. It's soft and brown and stretched for miles. Around me, I can see cacti and some rocky mountains but no sign of life. We're in the middle of a desert. In the distance, there seems to be a low-lying building but I can't tell if it's really there or a trick of the light. What are they called, those desert visions? Mirages? It seems to god to be real.

"We're in Arizona," Mary says quietly. Despite the fact we're out of the labyrinth, she doesn't seem too pleased about it.

"How do you know?"

She scowls. "Because, idiot, that's my mother's ranch right there. Dusty Plains, Phoenix, Arizona. Home sweet home."


	19. Chapter 19

The low lying ranch house is further away than I expected. Every step I take on the dusty, beaten desert tracks burns like fire in my bones. I can't remember the last time I was so tired. Apart from saying this ranch belonged to her mother, Mary doesn't share any more information. I wouldn't have expected Nike to live in the middle of the desert on a ranch but, a few years ago, I wouldn't have expected the gods to exist at all so I keep quiet too. Besides, my tongue is so dry, I don't think I would be able to talk anyway.

Finally, we are close enough to the house for me to see it clearly – or as clearly as is possible with the bright desert sun in your eyes. The first thing that comes to mind when I hear "ranch house" is a huge, sprawling building with acres of land around it. The house in front me doesn't fit that description. It's a pretty small building compared to what I imagined and has just the one storey. The walls may have been white once but are a pale gray now. All the windows have green shutters but the paint is flaking off, exposing the bare and chipped wood beneath. A wraparound porch runs the whole way around the house though parts of it looks worn and almost all of it is covered in dust and sand. Right at the front, there is a sheep skull with weeds – surprisingly pretty ones – growing through the holes where the eyes would have been. A hand painted sign is fixed to the rusty mailbox which stands at the bottom of a long gravel drive; it labels the house_ The_ _Dusty Plains Ranch: Est. 1945_.

"This is where your mom lives?" I ask after coughing to clear my throat.

"Sometimes," Mary mutters, "I don't even know if she's home."

"It doesn't seem like a place a goddess would live," I say quietly, my eyes fixed on a spot on the porch where the floorboards have given away completely.

Mary laughs and says, "My mom? A goddess? Please!"

I shake my head in confusion and I begin to ask her what she means but we reach the front door and Mary strides up the front steps quicker than I can get a word out. There is an old knocker fixed to the green door in the shape of a ram's head and Mary bangs it loudly. We wait for a few moments, thinking that nobody's home, and then we hear the shuffling from inside.

"Who is it?" a voice comes from beyond the door. It's low and the kind of gravelly that comes from smoking too many cigarettes. "I ain't interested in whatever it is you're selling."

"Mom?" Mary says. For the first time, I hear nervousness in her voice. "It's me, Clarisse."

The door swings open faster than I can blink and in the doorway stands a tall, blonde woman with tattooed arms and a lip ring. "Oh my goodness," is all she says before she sweeps up Mary in her arms.

"You came home," the woman says softly.

Mary pulls away. She looks relieved though I can tell she wishes she could hide it better. "Only because I had no other choice, mom," she says. She looks at me then, as if suddenly remembering I'm there.

"God!" the woman exclaims, noticing me for the first time, "Get him_ inside_! He looks like he's ready to drop!"

She couldn't have spoken sooner because when I do step inside, I have just enough time to drink a glass of cold water that Mary's mom gives me before passing out on their couch.

* * *

When I wake, at first I have no idea where I am. Then I remember I'm at Mary's mom's house. The living room I fell asleep in is small but kept cool by an air conditioner which hums from its place on the wall behind me. It's soft and well-kept, unlike the outside of the house. The one couch that I rest on is the same pale yellow as the wallpaper and the curtains. It's like waking up in a pool of sunshine which is a welcome change after the dark days of the labyrinth.

As soon as I think of that place, images come back to me uncontrollably. Mary's body, broken and bent. My own blood on my hands. Monsters chasing me down dark corridors and winding pathways. And screaming. So. Much. Screaming.

"Chris!"

The voice – a girl's – pulls me away from the memories. As I sit on the couch, panting like I've run a marathon, I realise the screams were mine. Not from the labyrinth but from right now, in the sunshine room.

"Chris?" It's the girl again.

I look at her and I see she's not Mary. I know that because I just saw Mary die in my head. I can't have imagined that. But I don't know who this girl is when she is not Mary.

"It's okay," the girl says softly. The tone doesn't match her face which looks as if it is used to being angry. "You're not in there anymore. You're safe."

Safe.

I look around at the soft striped rug on the floor, the vase of fresh daisies on the windowsill and the clear blue sky outside the window. And I believe her.

"You're not Mary, are you." I say. It's not a question. I know she isn't.

"No, I'm Clarisse," the girl replies.

"You might have to tell me that again."

She nods. She understands.


	20. Chapter 20

I wake again several hours later. The curtains are drawn across the window and the overhead light has been switched on. I can hear the desert winds blowing sand outside; the grains hit the glass of the window with sharp clicks. I hear voices talking in another room but I can't make out what they're saying. It must be Mary and her mom. I want to go and join them but my legs ache.

I sit up on the couch and the old springs creak loudly. I see that someone has set a clean glass and a pitcher of water on the table next to me and I eagerly pour myself a glass, then another, and another.

"Slow down there," someone says from behind me. I know it Mary without looking up. "You'll make yourself sick."

Mary comes to sit on a small stool across from me. She's smiling. She's changed out of the grubby clothes she was wearing in the labyrinth into a red plaid shirt and jeans. The jeans are a little short, as if the last time she wore them she was much younger. Every time I look at her, I feel a sense of relief. I wish that feeling would wipe away the memories of seeing her broken body lying on the cold, hard ground of the Cyclops's cave.

"Why does your mom live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, Mary?" I ask.

Her face falls a little but she still keeps looking at me with a soft look in her eyes which I don't recognise. It's the same kind of look my mom would give to stray puppies or those kids in the malls whose moms don't pay attention to them: a little pitying, a little loving.

"You think I'm Mary right now?" she asks softly. I think she's a little hurt.

"What do you mean? You _are_ Mary."

She sighs like she's about to begin a long speech. "My name is Clarisse La Rue. I am fifteen years old. This is my mother's house. You knew that already but my mother is _not_ some goddess. Well, my dad seemed to think she was, briefly, fifteen years ago. My dad is Ares, god of war. My mother was part of this all-woman biking group, Hell's Belles, and they met at some biking convention. When she got pregnant, he ditched us for about ten years. Then I got shipped to Camp. I don't come here much. My mom...she's not home too often. But get this: she is just a regular lady. Frances La Rue. And I'm Clarisse." By the time she's finished talking, she sounds a little frustrated, like she isn't used to talking for so long about personal things in such a calm way. Or maybe even at all.

My head swims with all this information. I want Mary to be herself again. Or maybe it is me that's changed. I don't know any more. I feel torn between two realities: one where this girl is Mary, a girl I love; another where she is a stranger. I want her to be mine again but I don't even know who I am. I realise that more than feeling sick, I feel...alone.

Before I can say any more, Mary's – or Clarisse's – mother, Frances, walks in with a tray of steaming food. She has blonde hair, the blondest hair I have ever seen, which is held back with a blue bandana. She is dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and black jeans. Her feet are bare and I see that her toenails are painted black too. Her muscular arms are almost covered with tattoos including one of a revolver. She looks like she'd be right at home in steel toed boots, sitting astride a motorbike, with that revolver in her hand. Her face is surprisingly soft, pretty even, with tanned skin and clear green eyes. Her face doesn't go with the rest of her; the only sign that this is the same person is a ring which pierces the left side of her lower lip.

"How are you feeling?" she says, addressing both of us together. "There wasn't much in the fridge, I'm afraid; I'd planned to go away for the weekend. But some soup ought to do you good."

I take the soup from her gratefully and I see Mary's replacement do the same. I have to start thinking of her as Clarisse but it's nearly impossible. As we sit together in the small room, sipping in silence, I can feel myself growing drowsier. When I finish, I lie down and close my eyes but sleep doesn't come immediately.

After a while, I hear the two women talking.

"I sure am glad you're home, Clarisse," Frances says quietly.

I hear her daughter scowl. "Whatever. It's hardly home."

"It _is_ home," Frances says, the hurt in her voice all too clear, "You know that. Honey, if you came back, I'd give it up. Quit the Hell's Belles. You know that. I wish you'd come home more often."

"You know you wouldn't do that!" snaps Clarisse but then she quickly quietens her tone when she realises I am, apparently, sleeping. "The Hell's Belles is your life! I don't even know when you're at home. Besides, what would I do, huh? Hang around this empty ranch while you're gone. Face it mom, I don't know how to be a good daughter any more than you know how to be a good parent."

Clarisse's words are so cold it feels as if the whole room has grown colder. I feel sorry for her mother but I realise that I don't know Frances. Clarisse could be right. She spent ten years living with this woman before going off to camp.

"I'm _trying_," Frances sighs, "You could at least do the same."

There is silence for so long that I think they must have left but then Clarisse speaks again. "Maybe," she says, "After this war or whatever it is that's brewing is over. I'll try."

I hear them shuffling and through the gaps in my eyelashes, I see Frances put an arm around her daughters shoulders. "I have missed you, baby," she says. Clarisse doesn't argue. I think she knows. I think maybe she's missed her mom too.

"This boy..." Frances says. I close my eyes tight when I feel her gaze on me. "He's not...well, he's not sane."

"I know," I hear Clarisse reply. Her voice sounds a little defensive. "I have to get him to Camp. I sent Chiron an Iris Message. We should set off as soon as he can walk around by himself. He can stay in the Big House, Chiron says."

"Well then," I hear Frances say, "Next stop: Camp Half-Blood."


	21. Chapter 21

Frances La Rue is a woman made up of juxtapositions. Her biker boots clash with her pastel yellow living room. Her all-black clothing goes against the floral apron she wears while she makes breakfast. And the fact she was once the lover of the war god totally does not fit with her kind, caring nature. I know it must have been hard for her daughter to have a mother who wasn't home that often but I bet when she _was _there, home was a good place to be.

Even though Clarisse insists that she IM Camp to send over some pegasi, her mother is adamant that she drive us there. As long as her impressive collection of bikes, she has a truck which she can drive us in. Pegasi would be faster – it will take us over a day to drive from Phoenix to Long Island – but Frances refuses to back down. At first I think it must be just the way she is: loving and helpful. But I overhear her and Clarisse arguing about it quietly in the kitchen on my way back from the bathroom.

"Mom, we'll cut our journey time in half if we just ask Chiron!" Clarisse says, sounding exasperated.

"Think about it, Clarisse," Frances responds, equally frustrated, "That boy in there? You think he can handle a pegasus by himself for a couple of hours? He forgets who you are and where he is every five minutes! What if he forgets you're on his side and tries to attack you? He was in that labyrinth for way too long, love. His mind's not right anymore."

Clarisse sighs. It's a sigh of defeat. She knows her mother is right.

The worst part is that _I _know Frances is right too. I am a liability to Clarisse's mission, not an asset. My nightmares are filled with darkness, monsters and memories so vivid I swear I feel the pain. I wake sweating and yelling in the middle of the night, trying to fend off a monster that's not there. The monsters are all in my head. That's what makes them a hundred times more frightening than facing them in reality. It is impossible to hide when they plague my every thought.

But when I wake, she is always there. She reassures me it was all a dream, that I am safe. Sometimes, it takes only a few minutes until I feel calm. Other times it takes hours. When I wake, I never remember that she is not Mary. It is only when I am lucid that I see how much it hurts her when I forget her real name. But, like almost everything in my life right now, that is beyond my control. She understands, I know she does, but just because you understand that some things are the way they are doesn't mean it stops hurting. It doesn't mean that is the way you want them to be or that that is the way it _should_ be.

I hear someone, most probably Frances, put on the kettle to boil and it reminds me that I'm not supposed to be there. I shouldn't have heard that. For now, I will pretend like I didn't.

* * *

Just after a lunch of pickle sandwiches, scrambled eggs and chocolate milkshakes ("Fridge-clearing food," Frances calls it), Frances and Clarisse start loading the truck. I want to help but Frances tells me I should wait on the porch in the shade. I feel useless.

"Hey, Chris!" Clarisse calls out, "Hold on to this, will you?" She tosses me an old, worn map of the United States. There is no real need for me to hold it but I guess she understood how I was feeling. Scary how she can do that better than I can most days.

The truck, an old, blue Chevy that looks like it has seen better days seems like it could collapse any second. The left wing mirror is held together with duct tape and there is a crack in the windshield in the shape of a frown. Frances reassures us that it won't break down but I am still reluctant to get on it. Then I remember that the reason we're even using this truck is because of me and I hurry to climb into the backseat.

Neither Clarisse nor her mom are big talkers. They're not the sort that make casual comments about the weather to fill the silence and there's not much else to talk about. The Arizona landscape seems to be mainly reddish sand and the occasional cactus, hardly anything noteworthy. For a few miles, I watch the outside world pass us by and listen to the fuzzy metal music on the radio but it isn't long until I fall asleep.

_I am somewhere dark. The air is stagnant and reeks. It is the smell of old people's bedrooms, the ones where they never open the windows and sometimes forget to clean their sheets. But unlike old people's rooms, quiet and unthreatening, everything about this place feels dangerous. I look around me and the surroundings are familiar though I don't recall how I know this place. It looks like a large room. In the dark I make out odd, large shapes. Not monsters. These stand still. _

_From somewhere up above, a soft golden light slowly illuminates the room. It reflects off metal streamers which hang from the ceiling – chains? It makes the room look eerily beautiful as the ceiling glitters and glows. The light makes it clear that the shapes I could only vaguely make out before are pieces of machinery, some old and some new. _

_Finally, it touches on something which looks oddly out of place and unfamiliar in this strangely recognizable room. A glass box, long, about at long as a person when they're lying down. It is a coffin though there are no flowers, no offerings, none of the usual niceties reserved for the dead to surround it._

_I approach it slowly, at once anticipating and dreading what may lie inside. Not what, sorry. Who. As I near it, I make out soft black, flowing fabric, like silk. Golden hair. Pale skin. My heart thuds in my chest. I stand two steps away from the glass coffin and I don't even have to look to know who lies within. Mary. Even though she looks so peaceful, so serene, I feel like my heart is being crushed slowly. Even in death she is beautiful. But she is out of my reach. _

_As soon as I think this, the coffin lid unlatches itself. My heart thumps as it rises up and hovers a few feet above Mary's body. I step closer. I need to touch her one last time. I need to. I rush forward, unable to hold back the sobs which rack my body. I say her name so many times it becomes a mantra. I reach out my hand and touch her cheek. It feels surprisingly warm, as if she had been dead seconds not days. _

_But slowly, I feel her body grow colder and colder until her skin is so cold that I have to pull my fingers away. Her body begins to shift horribly. It morphs from the peaceful sleeping position into odd angles until her arms are splayed, straining against the walls of the coffin, and her legs are bent outwards. Her spine – oh gods – her spine shifts into an unnatural position. The way she fell. She is dying all over again. Oh gods oh gods oh gods._

_From behind me, I hear the Cyclops laugh and I scream_.

"Chris, wake _up_!"

The first thing I feel when I wake is the vomit crawling up my throat.

"Oh, gods," I hear a voice say before my head is shoved out of a window. I don't even try to hold it in.

When I finish, someone helps me pull my head back inside. I am in a car, it seems, but it's stopped by the side of a road. All the windows are down and the engine is switched off. It's hot as Hades in here.

"Are you alright?" A towel is put into my hands. I look up and it's Mary. Of course. I wipe my mouth and nod. "It was just a bad dream."

"I know," I say, "You were there. You were...dead."

"I was?"

"Yes. I watched you die again, Mary."

"Chris look at me," she says softly, "I'm not Mary, Chris. Please, it's me, Clarisse."

How have I ended up here again?

"Clarisse? Yeah, of course. Of course you are," I say. It's really more trying to convince myself more than anything else.

"You did really well, Chris," Clarisse says sounding genuinely impressed, "It took you a lot less time to figure out it was me."

_I didn't really figure it out, did I? _I think, _You told me. And it's just because I watched Mary die that I know you can't be her._

I say nothing. I just nod.

It is only then that I realise that the day's grown darker. Frances is outside, I see her now, illuminated by the dim glow of a cigarette.

"We're over halfway there," Clarisse says. "We made good progress. The sooner we get to Camp the better. Mr D...we need him to help you but Chiron says he's not there. Chiron's good with healing and medicine though. He can help too."

The fierce way she says it makes me wonder id she's saying to reassure me or herself. I find it strange how often I think of us as one person, not two, with the same needs. I don't know what this says about us. Truth be told, I don't know anything for sure anymore.


	22. Chapter 22

We drive on through the night, stopping only to fill up on gas and once at around midnight so Clarisse could take over the wheel. She doesn't have a licence and is nowhere near old enough but Frances either doesn't care or is too tired to put up a fight. A part of me wants to offer too but even I know that I'm not stable enough to drive for hours.

Luckily, I haven't had any strange dreams since the nightmare about Mary. I've even managed to remember where I am and who I am with. This is the best I've been since coming out of the labyrinth. Maybe the gods are feeling especially merciful today.

Soon enough, Frances drops off to sleep. I wait until I'm sure she's asleep before leaning forward towards Clarisse in the front seat.

"Clarisse?"

In the amber glow of the streetlights, I can see she's surprised I've got it right, but in a good way. Weirdly, I'm happy to see her that way. "Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something, something important," I say. I don't know why I've left it this long to tell her the truth – the truth that I was working for Kronos down there. The truth that my mission was to find a way to invade the place I'm expecting to welcome me back.

"Shoot," she replies without taking her eyes off the road. I see her hands grip the steering wheel tighter. I think she knows already. I think she's just waiting for me to confirm her fears.

I take a deep breath and I tell her. I tell her everything, right from the beginning. Once I start, I can't keep the words from flowing out. Even the things which seen so irrelevant, like my mortal friends back home and my mom, come gushing out. I recount how Luke asked me to join his army and how angry I'd felt with the gods when I'd said yes. I tell her about the ship and how we were worked like slaves, not soldiers. But when I start to get closer and closer to the labyrinth, the words stick. I force myself to tell her about how I failed to notice when Percy Jackson and his friends snuck on board and how I was sent on the mission as a punishment. When I tell her about Mary, it takes a long time because it feels like the words are choking me. I'm terrified that I'll lapse into a state of insanity again. But I don't. I focus on the fuzzy dice that hang from the rear-view mirror as I recall every detail of what happened down there.

When I finish, neither one of us speaks. Her body in the front seat is so stiff with tension that a part of me is sure she's going to pull over, call me a traitor and kick me out of the car. I wouldn't blame her if she did. Just a few days ago, I was on a quest to destroy the place she calls home. I would have found a way to kill the people she calls her brothers and sisters, her friends.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. It's all I can think to say and what hurts the most is the fact that I _know_ it's not enough. It will never be enough.

Clarisse breathes deeply and pulls over much too sharply. The car behind us honks but it drives on. She checks to make sure that Frances is still asleep and she faces me. I brace myself for what is to come; I expected this anyway.

"It's not your fault."

_What?_ The voices in my head are going crazy as they echo her words. I don't – I _can't _– believe it. After everything I just told her, after I said that I was working for the enemy, she says that _it's not my fault? _

She must see the shock on my face despite the darkness because I hear her laugh a little. It's not the same sound that people make when they find something funny, but the sound they make when a situation arises where if they weren't laughing, they'd be crying. It's a hopeless laugh.

"I understand, ok?" she says, her voice thick with emotion. "The gods aren't the best parents. My own dad, Ares...well, he's not the greatest guy. Just being around him makes you so _frustrated_. But when you're his kid, there's all this pressure on you to be brave, be strong, be _fearless_. But no one's like that. He expects you to be something that no one could ever be, no matter how much they tried. And I've tried. Believe me, I've tried, Chris. Nothing you do is ever good enough. There's always someone better. So I get it. I thought about too, you know, joining Kronos's army.

"I thought about for about a minute but then I realised that all I'd be doing if I joined them is proving my dad right. I would prove to him that I _was_ a sell-out, that I couldn't fight on the right side. So I stayed. How bad is that? I didn't even stay for my Camp, for my brothers or sisters. I stayed because I wanted to get back at my dad. Now I know my place. I _want _to defend my home and I'm doing this for them, not me. But then...I can't hate you for wanting revenge on your dad, Chris, because I wanted the exact same thing."

Maybe I expected her words to hit my like a ton of bricks but instead, they soothe me. I feel my fear disappear little by little as she speaks. I'm not alone. She doesn't hate me. I haven't known her for long and during the time that I have, I've been seeing her as someone else. But now I see her for who she is: Clarisse, a girl who puts on a tough-girl act in her personal war against the world and her dad. A girl who, despite her problems, is loving and forgiving. Unlike me, Mary and the rest of the kids on the _Princess Andromeda_, she doesn't hide behind her hate and fear; she lives in spite of it. I don't think I have ever met anyone so strangely wonderful in my whole life.

"What do you think they'll do when I get back to Camp?" I ask quietly. The question has been going round in my head for days, gnawing at my gut. I've been too afraid to ask it because I'm scared of the answer.

Clarisse sits up straighter in her chair. Her moment of truth is gone. She is Clarisse, daughter of Ares, once again. When she speaks, her voice sounds angry though not at me, "I don't care what _they_ will do. I know you're not a bad guy and I'll prove it to them if I have to."

"So you'll stand by my side?" I ask.

"Did I not just say that?" she snaps.

"Yeah," I reply with a slow smile, "Sorry."

I see Clarisse start to smile and I think she's about to say something else when something crashes into the side of the car. The momentum throws us forward and Frances wakes with a scream. I grip my seat, thankful that I'd left my seatbelt on.

"What was that?" Frances yells but before anyone can answer, we're pummelled into again.

The world turns upside down as the car flips. I can feel the impact in my bones, a crushing blow, as it hits the ground with a deafening crash. I can't hear anything but the ringing in my ears but as it fades, I can hear screaming.

At first I think it's Frances but then I realise it's Clarisse. She's yelling for her mom, too stunned to even cry. I follow her gaze to the passenger seat. Frances' forehead is split open and a stream of blood trickles down her face. Her mouth hangs open at an awkward angle and her eyes are closed. But she's breathing.

"Clarisse, she's breathing," I say, trying to calm her even though my own voice shakes with fear.

She turns her panicky gaze on me and says, "We have to get out _now_."

The car lies on its side meaning Clarisse's door is totally blocked off by the ground. Frances is slumped against the other one and moving her could be dangerous. The free door next to me appears to be jammed because no matter how hard I push, it won't open.

"The windshield," I say, "It's the only option."

The windshield is cracked open, totally gone in most places. We should be able to crawl through it even though the glass will probably cut into our hands. It's a risk we're willing to take. Clarisse unfastens her seatbelt and slowly crawls forward. I hear her wince every time sharp glass bites into her skin but she manages to get all the way out. I follow behind her. I crawl over the front seat carefully. There's a lot of glass inside the car as well as around it and even before I reach our exit, my hands and knees burn from bleeding cuts.

Outside, it's pitch black. The car's headlights have been smashed beyond emitting even a sliver of light and the streetlights on the highway are several feet too far away. The highway itself is above us. We must have fallen over the barrier and down the grassy slope.

"We shouldn't try to move her," I say gently because I know Clarisse will want to get her mom out of there. "She might have broken bones."

She nods, sniffing. "What happened?" she asks desperately, "We were pulled over..." her voice trails off and I think it's because she's run out of words but then she holds a finger up to her lips. Her body stiffens like she's ready to attack if she needs to.

I feel the prickle of someone's stare on the back of my neck too and I reach for my sword in my pocket. Clarisse's face becomes horrified as she realises that her weapon, a spear, is trapped inside the car in the trunk. Even if it opens, the rummaging around will tip off any monsters that may be hiding in the shadows.

Suddenly, a cold female voice cuts through the dark silence "It may be dark, but you can't hide. The dark is my home, sweet children, and you cannot escape."

"Who are you?" Clarisse demands, her voice confident, "Show yourself!"

"If you insist," the voice replies.

From behind a cluster of trees, a woman's figure emerges. She seems to be glowing, surrounded by an aura of thick, green fog that lights her way. She steps out from behind the trees, standing in plain sight.

"I am Achlys," the woman smiles sinisterly.

And then, all I know is screaming.


	23. Chapter 23

The woman before us – if you could even call her that – is horrifying. Her skin is gray and peels away in large sections, revealing splintering bones underneath. Her long black hair is a tangled mess, hanging to the ground and tangled with leaves and twigs. She is covered in thick dust and is bent over to support the weight of herself on her swollen knees. But her face is the most awful. It is so severely scarred and bloodied that it is hard to see where her features would have been even if we'd been standing in broad daylight. Her only clear facial features were her green eyes which looked puffy and swollen, as if she'd been weeping.

"What are you?" I blurt out.

"I am Achlys, a spirit of death, creator of the mist that clouds the eyes of the deceased," the hag says. "People always forget me; I am not important in life. But is I they see when they close their eyes for the last time."

"Yeah, well, I'm hoping for a prettier view," Clarisse says. Quicker than I can blink, she grabs my sword from my hands and runs towards Achlys.

"Clarisse, _no_!" I yell. From the way she holds the sword, her firm but inexpert grip, I can tell she's a good fighter but not used to using swords. If she'd been using her spear, I am sure she could have taken down Achlys with one thrust.

With a sword – _my_ sword, I'm not so sure.

"Stay back, Chris!" she shouts back at me, turning her head for a fraction of a second so she can look me in the eyes when she says this.

It's a big mistake. Achlys takes advantage of her distraction, using the moment to spring away from Clarisse's blow. If she hadn't jumped at the last second, the sword would have sliced right through her abdomen. Clarisse lets out a howl of frustration as her swing strikes a tree, causing the bark to splinter.

"So much spirit, young one," Achlys laughs mockingly. She takes several steps away from Clarisse, towards me. She's surprisingly fast despite her swollen knees and cut up, bare feet. "Pity that it does not interest me. I exist not for the spirited, the _alive_, but for those who are inches away from death's door."

Too late, I realise what she wants. She doesn't want Clarisse or her mother. She doesn't even want a fight. She wants me.

As she sees the realisation dawn on my face, Achlys cackles. "Yes, the son of Hermes finally understands! I have been tracking you for miles, boy. I sent you a dream, a vision from the labyrinth, hoped it would cloud your memories as you took your final breath."

"You sent me that dream?" Of course I know it is possible for demigods' dreams to be manipulated but I'm still astounded. Usually, the monsters and gods don't bother with sons of Hermes. They go for the more important ones, the ones who could actually be heroes someday.

"I had been hoping that you would descend into madness, damaged beyond saving, mine for the taking," she says casually, as if she's talking about how she would have preferred semi-skimmed milk from the Bargain Mart but they only had 2%. "But here you are, _sane_."

"And it's going to stay that way, you creep!" Clarisse yells from behind Achlys and starts running towards the death spirit again.

The green light that surrounds Achlys seems to glow brighter. I have no idea what to expect. Until now, I didn't even know she existed, let alone what she can do. It is entirely possible she'll erupt into a ball of green fire. I have seen stranger, scarier things happen.

"Clarisse, watch out!" I bellow, motioning for her to move out of the way.

Clarisse falters and Achlys turns towards me. "My, my, Chris Rodriguez," she grins wryly. I don't even want to know how she found out my name. "You _have_ moved on, haven't you? No wonder that vision of the poor, dead girl you left behind at the labyrinth – you know, the one that _died_ for you? – didn't drive you to insanity. It has become so clear to me now what I must do."

Faster than I could have ever expected her to move, Achlys is at Clarisse's side. Her aura glows so bright that it is impossible to keep looking at her. I hear Clarisse yell and a metallic clang as my sword falls to the ground. When the blinding light fades and I can see again, Achlys has got Clarisse in a choke hold.

_Clarisse_. I cannot let her fade away just when I have come to see her for who she is.

I forget every piece of advice I got on board the _Princess Andromeda _and I charge. I am completely unarmed. I don't know how I will save Clarisse but I know that I have to.

A few feet in front of me, Achlys cackles. "Come get your sword, son of Hermes! It will do you no good!"

She kicks my sword which lies at my feet towards me. If she's giving it up this easily, it's got to be a trick. But it's the best option I've got. I pick it up; feeling its familiar weight in my hands again gives me a surge of confidence.

"Chris, stop!" Clarisse says through gritted teeth, struggling to get out of Achlys's chokehold. "It's a trap!"

Her voice echoes my worst fears but I don't know what else to do. I take a swing, aiming for Achlys's hand which is clenched over Clarisse's throat. It's a stupid move, one which would have gotten me a week of extra chores on Luke's ship, but by some stroke of luck, it hits its mark and Achlys lets go with a shriek.

I am about to let out a triumphant yell when I realise what has really happened. It is impossible. There is no logical way this could have happened. _No_. The blade...it cut through Achlys's hand and into Clarisse's throat. Achlys seems unharmed despite the celestial bronze blade...but Clarisse.

"Clarisse!" I fall to my knees. Her body has fallen to the ground. I see the gash the blade – my blade – made. Thick dribbles of blood ooze out from the wound. Her eyes are foggy. I realise now, all too late, what Achlys means about the mist of death. Clarisse's eyes swim with it.

"See what you have done, son of Hermes!" Achlys crows, clutching her sides with sick laughter. "Another girl, dead, at your hands! Just like the last one!"

My head rings with her words. They're not true – they _can't_ be true! My breathing becomes shallower. Why is it so hard to breathe? Guilt weighs me down, a heavy pressure in my chest, keeping me from telling Achlys her words are lies.

But how can I tell her that? They're true. I killed Clarisse, the evidence is right here. If the campers needed any proof to see me as a traitor, here she lies. And worse than that, the one person who didn't judge me, who understood what I had been through, is gone. I will never get her back. And it is my fault. Just like with Mary. She died trying to save me. She did for me. She died because of me. There was a time when I thought I could never love someone as much as I loved her, that I would never get the chance to. Maybe I could have but I will never know.

_And it is my fault. _Oh, gods. What have I done?

"You killed them," Achlys's cruel voice cuts through my jumbled thoughts, "You can't deny it!"

I can't. In my head, I see Clarisse fall to the ground and I know it is my fault. And then she isn't Clarisse anymore, she is Mary. My Mary, the only person I had down in that hellhole. I killed her too.

_it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault_

I think my head is going to split open with the cacophony of resounding accusations. I can't see anything but the haunting image of Mary broken and lifeless.

Then I see nothing at all.


	24. Chapter 24

_A scene: a young boy lies sprawled on the ground. His eyes are open but unseeing. They have the look of the defeated though there is not a scratch, not even a visible bruise on this broken boy._

_"How long has he been like this?" asks a man. He sits in a wheelchair, shifting uncomfortably. He wants to get out, to examine the boy further, but he can take no risks with the Mist tonight._

_"A w-while," the shaking voice of a girl replies, "Ever since she left. He was seeing things. He kept saying it was his fault. Kept repeating the name Mary. And mine. They were just visions and I tried to tell him, I tried. But it was like he couldn't see me or even hear me. And the woman...she just disappeared. It was impossible trying to send her to Tartarus; it was like she was made of mist."_

_The man in the wheelchair doesn't respond. He has trained heroes, the best of them, and has never seen anything like this. A boy driven mad with guilt. He knows of Achlys, the mist of death, and knows the situation could have been worse. _Should _have been worse. The boy should be dead. It is only luck – or a blessing from the gods – that he isn't._

_"This is Chris Rodriguez," the man says. Though he hasn't seen the boy in years, he has no doubts. "He left Camp Half-Blood and joined their side."_

_The girl bristles. "He didn't want to," she snaps, "He felt like he had no choice, Chiron." _

_"I wasn't accusing him of anything," Chiron sighs. He feels a small twinge of pride in hearing this girl, a girl he knew to be unfriendly and aggressive most of the time, defend someone so readily. She was learning and it was good to see._

_"We will take him back to Camp," he says, "It is a good job you mentioned in your Iris Message that we bring the delivery vans. Even more amazing that you managed to get through in this light."_

_"Yeah, well," Clarisse replied uncomfortably, "Amazing what you can do with streetlamps and shaken-up soda water. What about my mom, Chiron?"_

_Chiron looks over at the demolished car and the injured woman that had been rescued from the wreckage._

_"Argus will take her to the nearest hospital in one of the vans. It's the best we can do. Her wounds aren't fatal, Clarisse. Your mother will be alright." _

_Clarisse takes a lingering look at her mother. She knows Chiron is right. It is the best they can do. Maybe she'll go home next summer and try to patch things up between them and make sure she's ok._

_"What will happen when we get back to Camp? Mr. D will treat him, right?"_

_"Dionysus is..." Chiron begins but he stops when he sees Clarisse's hopeful face, "We'll see when we return. Let's go." _

_For Clarisse, the ride to Camp had never taken this long. She sat next to Chris in the back, in the storage area. She wondered what he had seen. She couldn't help but think that if seeing her hurt had been that horrific for him, maybe he'd been starting to like her. Or at least stopped thinking of her as Mary. She tried to forget that he'd said her name too._

_She has to admit that there aren't a lot of people she could really turn to at Camp and be herself around. Her brothers and sisters expected her to be a leader. The other campers stayed away from her. It had been nice thinking that maybe, for once, someone would see her differently. But now, she'd be happy if he ever got better. _

_She reaches out and touches his hair. It's soft beneath her fingers and comforting. She lets her hand linger._

_After a few hours, the van shudders to a stop. She hears Chiron get out, though with some difficulty, and knows they've arrived back home. Wordlessly, she lets herself out of the back of the truck. She breathes in the fresh air, tinged with that salty sea smell from the Sound and immediately feels better. She sees that Chiron's not asked any of the other campers to meet them and feels a surge of relief; the old man could be okay sometimes. Plus, she was in no mood for explaining the situation to anyone, not even the Ares kids._

_Chiron emerges in his centaur form from the front of the van and says, "Put him on my back. We'll take him into the Big House. No one will be up at this time."_

_Clarisse shifts Chris's body up onto Chiron's back. He's heavy despite being so skinny and it takes her a few tries before he's secured. They walk to the Big House in silence. Even though the whole camp is sleeping, the Big House's porch light is on and it bathes the blue building in a welcoming glow. Chiron walks up the front steps with such expert moves that Chris doesn't even shift on his back._

_"We can take him to the room below the trapdoor for the attic," Chiron says, "No one is likely to go up there unless they're going to see the Oracle, and we all know she doesn't get many visitors."_

_Chiron leads her to a small, concealed lift just beyond the room where Seymour snores. He carefully slides Chris off his back and asks Clarisse to take him up herself, leaning his weight on her shoulder. Even after all these years, Clarisse is surprised to see how much she doesn't know about the Big House. It must be for Chiron so he can get up and down the stairs more easily. It makes taking Chris upstairs a lot easier and she's thankful for it._

_The room Chiron mentioned is small but it holds a bed with an iron bedstead and comfortable looking cotton sheets. There is a dumb waiter which will make bringing food up easier, and a bay window that looks out across the strawberry fields. Clarisse is sure that Chris can get better in a place like this. How could he not?_

_She lowers him onto the bed as carefully as possible and tucks the covers in around him. With his clouded eyes closed, he looks like he could be sleeping. She touches the side of his face softly and, for the first time in a long time, she prays. She prays to the gods that he'll get better and even dares to hope that they'll listen._

_A quiet click behind her makes her pull away quickly and turn around. She's surprised to see Chiron who'd made his way up silently. "I was just checking his temperature," she says, flushing._

_Chiron gives a small smile. "Yes," he says. He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Clarisse, I tried to contact Lord Dionysus. He's been...away while you were gone. He can't come back yet, Clarisse."_

_"He can't _what?"_ Clarisse demands loudly. Realising that Chris was asleep – or unconscious – behind her, she lowers her tone. "What do you mean he can't come back? Did you tell him how serious this is?"_

_"My dear," Chiron answers calmly, "It is a miracle I even managed to reach him. It took many drachmas before Iris would connect the line to Olympus. And of course I told him. I could I have one of the Apollo children look after him until..."_

_He stops as he sees Clarisse shaking her head. Her jaw is set and she has the same look of determination on her face that he has seen before she set off on a quest, or before a game of Capture the Flag. "No," she says firmly, "Without Mr. D, there's no chance he'll get better. I don't want anyone else to see him like this. I'll take care of him."_

_"But, Clarisse –"_

_"Leave him to me. Please."_


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: A reader pointed out that Chris is driven mad by King Minos in the book which is very true but I didn't really want to write about that so, as with Ethan, I took some liberties. I came across Achlys and thought she was pretty fascinating and not very well known so I used her instead. I have no problems with Minos; I just couldn't imagine a scene with him very well. I hope no one's opinion was too affected by my changes!**

* * *

_It has been a hard day for Clarisse. Mr. D is still out of touch and Chris is showing no signs of improvement. The last time she'd visited him, he'd been conscious but had been mumbling about Mary. Again. Now, to top it all off, Percy Jackson has returned to Camp._

_It wasn't that the boy isn't a good hero. It is exactly the opposite. His natural skill at fighting, his likability and leadership skills are things she envies. As the daughter of Ares, these things are supposed to come to her naturally, too. But somehow, no matter how hard she tried, no one seemed to recognise her for them. _

_Now, Jackson was mouthing off about going into the Labyrinth for answers. There had been a meeting for the councillors about it and everyone had seemed surprised when Clarisse hadn't jumped at the chance of going in there; one of the Stoll kids hadn't even hesitated to call her a coward. But they didn't know what it was like down there, what it could do to you. Those memories could haunt you forever – the living proof of it was lying, insane, in the Big House. No, she doesn't care if it makes her look like a coward. There is no way she'd ever go back there._

_Still angry from the snarky comments from the meeting, Clarisse stomps up the steps of the Big House. Being inside it makes her feel a little more at home. The Ares cabin is usually a mess of weapons and at any given time, someone's involved in a fight. But the Big House feels like a home even though none of the campers live there. It calms her a little as she takes a tray of food up the stairs up to Chris's room._

_When she enters, she sees that he's awake. One look at his clouded eyes and she knows nothing's changed. She braces herself for what is about to come._

_"Mary?"_

_With every time he says that name, Clarisse feels her heart sink. No matter how many times she assures him she's not his dead girlfriend from the labyrinth, he forgets in a matter of seconds. _

_"It's me, Chris," she says gently, "Clarisse. I'm not Mary." _

_She looks away so she doesn't have to look at the confused on his face which she knows will only hurt her. She sets down the tray of food next to him and picks up the bowl of tomato and ambrosia soup that Chiron said to feed him. Despite the celestial ingredients, it doesn't seem to be doing him much good._

_"Mary," he says desperately as she spoons the soup into his mouth. He's too weak to take it himself."It wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault, right? Mary?"_

_Clarisse tries to blink away tears when she speaks but her words stick in her throat and come out sounding thick and emotional. "I'm not Mary, Chris," she repeats._

_She swears she hears some movement behind her on the stairs but when she turns around, there's no one there. She whirls around back to Chris when he suddenly yells, "The son of Poseidon!"_

_"No, there's no one here, Chris, please," Clarisse begs._

_"A thousand skulls...the earth keeps healing him..."_

_Clarisse has no idea what he's talking about. It must be another bad memory from the labyrinth but he's in no state to tell her, coherently, what happened. She soothes him, wishing someone was there to do the same for her._

_Mr. D can't return soon enough, she thinks._


	26. Chapter 26

_The weeks stretched on and Chris is only getting worse. Chiron, though he'd clearly given up hope, didn't tell the other campers. He knew how badly that would affect Clarisse, hearing the others whisper about Chris, so he had said nothing. He'd tried to contact the boy's mother in New York but each time, there was no response._

_Clarisse's hope doesn't waver. Chris is going to get better and she knows it – or at least she tells herself that. The day will come._

_It is not until many weeks later that Mr. D is able to leave Olympus. The day begins like any other. It is only in movies or books that important days begin by feeling important; in real life, they creep up on you. It is sunny, as always, in the magical confines of Camp Half-Blood. The satyrs play their reed pipes in the strawberry fields, there are campers racing pegasi and playing volleyball. The only thing remotely out of the ordinary is that Clarisse opted out of training._

_"There's something else I need to get done," she's explained to her siblings before rushing off to see Chris. Since he kept getting worse, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. Just in case._

_In the Big House, while Clarisse sits silently with a rambling, fear-ridden Chris, Chiron plays solitaire in the lounge. Seymour is nice but he isn't much of a cards player. Chiron misses playing pinochle with Dionysus even though the god had been grumpy and a sore loser. Plus, he'd had no respect for Chiron's Frank Sinatra record collection. All the same, he wishes the camp leader was here, if only to cure the poor boy upstairs. _

_"The four of hearts, Chiron. Don't you see it?"_

_The voice coming from behind him makes Chiron jump so hard that he knocks the solitaire table, sending some of the cards flying. "Dionysus!"_

_"Yes, of course it's me, Chiron," Dionysus says, rolling his eyes, "Did you think that I was Iris, perhaps? You _have_ been spending an awful lot of drachma on her."_

_"Trying to contact you!" Chiron replies, secretly pleased that the god had returned. _

_"Yes, yes, save the details." Dionysus sighs heavily, momentarily showing any sign of fatigue. "I come back to see my camp in ruins, Chiron. And my son is dead."_

_Chiron hangs his head. There is nothing to say._

_"Nothing can be done, I suppose. In every war, a valuable hero must die. And I have no doubts anymore that this is a war."_

_The two sit in silence, feeling the gravity of the situation afresh. The camp lies in ruins and many heroes perished. But Dionysus is right; it could not have been helped._

_Finally, Dionysus says, "What exactly is it you needed my help for?"_

_A soft knock on the door makes Clarisse pull her hand away from where it rested on top of Chris's. He had fallen asleep – no doubt to new nightmares – a while ago but she hadn't wanted to leave. Quickly, she wipes away the sticky trail of tears before turning to face the door._

_"Chi– Dionysus?" she splutters, unable to hide her surprise. "You're here!"_

_"What is it with the people in this camp's need to state the blatantly obvious?" Dionysus sighs, though the usual tone of irritability is missing from his voice. "Is this the fellow?"_

_Clarisse steps aside, letting Dionysus take a look at Chris's passed-out form. The god tuts, shaking his head. "He's lucky," he says, "A curse like this should have killed him."_

_"Can you heal him?" Clarisse asks. _

_Dionysus detects the trace of desperation in her voice. All along, he had thought this daughter of Ares would grow up to be as heartless as her father. She had certainly acted that way. But perhaps he was wrong. The death of his own son makes his heart wrench. He hadn't thought heroes could be of such importance, not even his own son. Maybe it is time to give heroes another chance, he thinks._

_"I haven't seen madness like this in years," Dionysus replies, not really answering the question. "And almost never caused by anyone but myself. It will be difficult. But not impossible."_

_The sigh of relief that escapes Clarisse is uncontainable. She feels like she had been holding her breath all this time, been carrying some awful weight inside her, and now she can let it all go. _

_She stands back as Dionysus works, muttering in Ancient Greek, peering into Chris's closed eyes. He looks like some mad scientist trying to bring his Frankenstein monster to life. Every so often, he weaves a can of Diet Coke out of thin air and finishes them in a few gulps. _

_With every passing minute, Clarisse can almost see Chris getting better and little by little, she feels more hopeful. His breathing loses the raspy sound it had had ever since the attack and she can see his muscles relax._

_Eventually, Dionysus steps back. "That should do it," he announces firmly, "He should wake in a few minutes. If he isn't back to normal when he wakes, there is nothing more to be done." He looks pityingly at Clarisse, a little apologetic too, which the closest she will ever get to a real apology. _

_Clarisse nods. She wants to say thank you but it is as against her nature to say those words as it is for Mr. D to apologise. They understand each other._

_Dionysus steps back and leaves, muttering something about needing some wine. Clarisse resumes her position next to Chris's bed. For too many long, aching minutes, nothing happens._

_Then, all of a sudden, Chris's eyes fly open. Any hint of dark magic, any cloudiness is gone. The first thing he sees is the girl at his side._

"Clarisse?"


	27. Chapter 27

There is so much light in this world. There is the soft, golden sunlight that streams inside. There are silver glints from the dust dancing, shining like glitter. There is light in the laughter of the others outside your window. And there is light in her eyes where there has been darkness for much too long.

"Chris?" Clarisse asks tentatively.

I find that my mouth is too dry to answer her. The horrible images in my head, images that I now know Achlys planted there, were all a lie. The relief I feel from seeing her alive – not only alive but _healthy_ – makes my head start spinning all over again in a dizzying rush of happiness.

In a matter of seconds, a thousand thoughts run through my head. I am free. I don't have to go back to the _Princess Andromeda_, to Luke and to the Titan Army. I can call my mom. I can make new friends and live in Camp. I can be with Clarisse.

"Yeah," I reply, not surprised at how shaky my voice sounds, "It's me."

I lean my head against her shoulder because I'm too tired to say any more. I can feel her tears in my hair. We stay like that a while.

* * *

I realised that I was ravenously hungry and it's only after wolfing down two bowls of tomato and ambrosia soup, some of the Camp's barbecue chicken and three glasses of water that I feel ready to talk.

Chiron decided I should stay here in this small room until I feel totally recovered and so I lie under the covers, leaning back on a mountain of pillows and holding Clarisse's hand.

"It was awful," she tells me in a small voice when I ask her what had happened while Achlys played with my thoughts. "She grabbed me and you started running towards us. But then, you froze. You started to scream like you were seeing things, terrible things. I think some memories from the labyrinth came back to you. And you shouted...for me. I don't know what you think you saw, Chris, but it was much worse than what was going on. I tried to break free from Achlys but it was impossible. After a while, you just collapsed. I thought you'd _died_." Her voice falters and she stops. She takes a breath before carrying on. "And Achlys just disappeared. Like mist. When I got to you, you were breathing but it was like you couldn't see or hear anything. I sent Chiron an Iris Message at Camp and he came and got us. It was a while before you got better. Mr. D was the only one that could fix you and until he got here, you were here, dreaming those terrible things."

The nightmares. I remember them all too well. They were the same, over and over, of some of the monsters that I'd fought and, of course, Mary's death. I don't want to think about that now.

"Mr. D says you're lucky," Clarisse continues, "That a curse like that should have killed you. But for some reason, it didn't work." There is a questioning tone to her voice, like she thinks maybe I know why. And I think I do.

I won't ever know for sure but a thought, a theory, refuses to go away. It's not a fleeting thought but it sticks in my mind, making me surer that's it's true with every time I pay it any attention.

"I think," I begin, looking Clarisse in the eyes, "It was because of you that I went crazy."

I realise how accusatory that statement sounds and I have to grip her hand tighter to stop her from pulling it away.

"No, no," I say, shaking my head, "That wasn't what I meant. Let me start again, ok? When Achlys was messing with my thoughts, you're right, I was seeing things from the labyrinth. One thing in particular. Mary's death. She...she was sent by Luke to accompany me into the labyrinth. She fought with me and after some time, we...well, something happened. Or started to happen anyway.

"But before we got anywhere, she was killed. I don't really want to talk about it but I was there. I saw it. She fell from really high up. When I got to her, she was alive but barely. Her bones were broken and she was bleeding and we both knew she wasn't going to survive. She died right in front of me. After that, I blamed myself. She'd died trying to keep me alive – and that's a fact. I thought, because I was alive and she wasn't, that it was all me. I thought I'd killed her.

"After I met you, I started to get better, especially after you pulled me out of the labyrinth. In your mom's house, I started feeling more myself. By the time we were ready to leave for Camp, I started to realise that Mary's death hadn't been my fault at all. She'd died for me but it hadn't been my fault. It was that Cyclops that killed her. She'd known when she made her move what might happen but she did it anyway because she felt like she had to win. It wasn't me.

"That's why, when Achlys sent me that first vision of Mary as a corpse, the best she could do was make me throw up. It was pretty awful – horrifying even – but a part of me knew her death hadn't been my fault even then. But when she crashed our car, she realised that I'd come to terms with what happened in the labyrinth. So she showed me something else entirely. Except it didn't feel like a vision or a dream; it felt real. I saw her grab you and I tried to save you but it went wrong. I thought I'd killed you. _That_ was what sent me over the edge.

"I...I couldn't live with that, knowing it was me that killed you. I remember saying her name over and over, Mary's, because I wanted someone, _anyone_, to know it hadn't been my fault that she was dead. But you...I thought I really had killed you."

I close my eyes because my head is beginning to hurt, reliving all the painful memories.

I feel Clarisse pull her hand away from mine and I hear her shift from her seat. Did I tell her too much? I don't want to look now in case I turn to see that she's gone. But then I feel the mattress shift beside me and I feel her arms go around me and I know I am not alone.

For the first time, I let myself cry and it feels like finally coming home.


	28. Chapter 28

Over the next few days, I start to feel better. Clarisse comes to see me every day. Now that she sees I'm regaining my strength, she has no trouble letting loose her anger on me. Sometimes, I have to try not to laugh as she rants about some camper that got on her wrong side, the lava-shooting climbing wall that she's never quite got the hang of or the fact that she can't ever have the best food since she's got to sacrifice it all to her dad. I love those moments. I feel like I'm becoming a part of her life.

Sometimes, Chiron comes to see me. I thought he would hate me or maybe be a little mad that I was once a part of the army that ruined his camp, but when I tried to apologise, he waved his hand like it was nothing. "We're lucky to have you back," he'd said kindly. Usually, he brings up his deck of cards and we play pinochle. Even though Mr. D is his usual partner, Chiron says I'm a better loser and I let him play Frank Sinatra. Really, I think he knows I get pretty lonely up here.

The best parts of the day are the nights. Chiron decided that I was ready to go outside and get some fresh air at night while the others slept if I wanted. And I did, I wanted that so badly. When darkness falls, I creep down the stairs, careful not to wake Seymour, and take a walk around Camp. I had forgotten how beautiful it is. I fall in love every day with the way the moonlight shines on the canoe lake; the quiet, humming insects in the strawberry fields; the beautiful pegasi whose lips graze my hand as I slip them some ambrosia. I think some of them recognise me from the _Princess Andromeda_. One big, black one definitely seems familiar. They get pretty happy to see me, like they're glad someone else made it off that awful ship too. Every night, I am reminded once again why I don't want to ever go back to Kronos's Army. This place, this new home, is the only thing worth fighting for.

"There's a war coming, Chris," Clarisse had said quietly on one of her visits, "Are you going to fight?"

"Of course," I'd replied, "I'm going to be right by your side, Clarisse." And that had been that. I had no intention to go back on my word.

After about a week, I feel as well as ever. In fact, I felt better than I could ever remember feeling. Chiron asked me if I wanted to keep my past a secret but I thought _why should I? _When I get back to the Hermes cabin, some of the older campers will figure it out anyway. And I want them to know I'm on their side. I don't expect everyone to welcome me with open arms but I'm not going to pretend to be someone that I'm not.

"That is a brave decision, Chris," Chiron says when I tell him what I think. Maybe it's just me but he sounds a little proud of me.

He walks me to my cabin. Just in the short distance between the Big House and the Hermes cabin, I can see people whispering and staring. I figure I should get used to it. When we reach the cabin, Chiron knocks on the door: three sharp knocks, meaning business. I'm glad he's with me; I don't think I could have done it by myself.

Two tall, lanky guys with mischievous lopsided grins open the door. They look like they could be twins except one is a little taller than the other. I don't recognise them which means they probably weren't around when I left Camp. It must be why their smiles don't falter when they see me on their doorstep.

"Travis, Connor," Chiron greets them, "I have brought you a new camper, the one I told you about."

Travis and Connor look at me and I swear their grins grow wider. The taller one, the one I think is Travis, says, "Chris, right? You're a Hermes kid through and through. Come on in."

I don't understand why they're being so nice but I'm not going to complain. Chiron tells me he'll see me at dinner and leaves. I follow the brothers inside. The interior of the Hermes cabin is chaotic as ever. It seems like the number of sleeping bags in the floor and hammocks hanging from the ceiling is even bigger than when I left. There are kids everywhere, some clearly Hermes kids and others who look like they're probably unclaimed. Some sit in groups and others by themselves but most of them look happy to be here.

"Listen up!" the shorter brother, probably Connor, yells. Not exactly the most disciplined kids, it takes two more tries until the cabin falls relatively silent. "This is Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes."

A few of the Hermes kids cheer and a couple of the unclaimed do too. I wish it had been like this a few years ago, welcoming and friendly. If it had been, I may not have ever left.

"You're the one that joined Krnos's army, aren't you?" a small, dark haired kid pipes up from near the back.

Travis goes to tell him off but I cut him short. "Um, yeah, I am." Not the most confident of responses but I go with it, "A few years ago, Luke, I guess you've all heard of him, asked me to join his army. At the time, I was pretty, uh, lonely. I wanted revenge on my dad and I thought it would be a good idea. But it turned out to be the worst decision I ever made. I would have died if one of the campers, Clarisse, hadn't saved me. They treat you a lot worse on that ship than they do here. It's, um, it's not worth it, going over to their side."

"Jeez, man," Connor Stoll scoffs, "_Clarisse_ did something good?" His voice is jokey but I can see that he's a little impressed.

"Anyone got any problems with our brother?" Travis asks the crowd of kids.

They shake their heads and some even call out cries of "No!" I look at the kid that asked if I was the one that joined Kronos's army. He smiles.


	29. Chapter 29

My first day back at Camp is just like I remember them to be, only much happier. At training and at lunch, I get the occasional stare, the occasional whisper, but it doesn't really bother me. The small, dark-haired kid from my cabin seems to think I'm his big brother – and I guess in a way I am – because he sticks to me like glue. I think he's an unclaimed kid since he doesn't have the same sharp features that the Hermes kids have. Maybe he had been thinking about joining Kronos's army; I'd like to think what I said maybe changed his mind.

I even called my mom from Chiron's office. She'd been worried sick about me, of course, but she was happy to hear from me. Her phone had been cut off because she hadn't been able to pay the bills which is why, she explains, Chiron hadn't been able to get hold of her. The best news, she tells me, is that she quit her job as a cleaner and managed to find a job in an elementary school, helping kids with learning difficulties improve their reading. It pays double what she was making before and it'll actually make her happy. I know how caring she is and how all those kids are going to love her. I promise her I'll come home at the end of the summer and I mean. I've missed her so much.

The only downside is that I haven't seen Clarisse all day. Even though the campers are all pretty nice, she's still the only one here I'd consider a friend. But since I've got a normal, busy camp routine now, and she has her own duties as cabin leader, I only catch glimpses of her throughout the day. She always looks like she's in a bad mood but manages a smile when she comes across me.

But tonight, at my first campfire in years, I'll be able to see her. I'm so used to talking everyday that I actually find myself missing her. Not in the way you miss food when you haven't eaten in a couple of hours, but the way you miss someone you haven't seen in years. Which is stupid because I saw her only yesterday. It feels like ages.

"D'you remember the campfire songs, Chris?" Connor, who I now know for sure is the shorter of the brothers, asks me after dinner as we make our way to the fire.

"Of course I do," I reply and can't help but feel surprised at how true that is. Remembering the words to my old favourite songs comes so naturally that it feels like I never left.

The best thing about the campfire is that you can sit with whoever you want. The days at Camp half-Blood are usually arranged so you train with your cabin, you eat with them, you sleep with them. You're pretty much tied to your cabin mates throughout the whole day, more or less. At the campfire, kids can sit with anyone. You wouldn't think a smart, quiet kid from the Athena cabin would call out for her best friend, a giggly girl from the Aphrodite cabin, to sit with her. Or that a tough, heavyset boy from Ares would sit by an Apollo kid to discuss poetry. But it happens. It's amazing to see everyone mingle like that. It reminds me of why we're even here: we're children on the gods, a family. There is no 'your cabin' and 'my cabin'; at the end of the day, at the end of this war, we're all in the same boat, win or lose. I haven't ever felt so proud to be a part of something so great.

The Hermes kids are among the last to arrive. Most of the other campers are here already and slowly, my cabin mates trickle off to join their friends and claim their seats. The ring around the campfire is so big, it's impossible to see around it. If Clarisse is on the other side, I'll have to walk around but Chiron is already clearing his throat for everyone to settle down so I sit down at an empty space by myself. I feel a little disappointed that I won't be next to Clarisse, where I really want to be, but I tell myself that I can always find her afterwards.

Before Chiron starts talking, I hear someone snap "Move!" and the boy next to me scoots over. Clarisse slips into his place and wordlessly slides her hand into mine. I grin.

"Glad to see you were looking for me," Clarisse says quietly as Chiron begins to speak.

"I _was_ looking for you," I protest under my breath, "But Chiron was telling everyone to quieten down so..."

"Yeah, yeah. When did you start becoming such a rule follower?"

"What do you mean? This is my first day!"

"Whatever, Chris," Clarisse says, rolling her eyes. I can tell she's trying not to smile. "You're such a priss. Why do I even like you?"

"So you like me?"

Next to me, I feel her freeze. In the purple glow of the fire, I can see her face is flushed and she looks embarrassed. I laugh and she scowls, trying to pull her hand away from mine but I grip it tighter.

"Go away, Chris," she frowns half-heartedly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Really?" I whisper, leaning closer to her. She smells like sweet like peaches, something I haven't noticed until now. "Because I was kind of hoping that you did."

She turns to face me so we're face to face. I can see how, all of a sudden, she looks guarded. I don't think Clarisse as many friends. The kids here at camp seem surprised when I say how nice she's been to me. I guess they don't really know her like I do. I wouldn't be surprised if she's used to being a little left out and disliked from how I've heard the other the kids talk about her. But I know they're wrong. I know that there isn't another person in this world I would have rather found me in that labyrinth. No one else would have understood how I was feeling at that time, I'm sure of it. And the way I see her, she's one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. Maybe not in how she looks or even the things she says, but in the way she just _is_.

"Are you messing with me, Chris?" she asks, her tone a little sceptical.

I shake my head. "If I mess with you, you have my permission to kick my butt."

"Good," she smiles, "Because you can bet I will."

"But I'm not," I say softly. "I'm not lying at all right now."

"Good," she repeats, smiling even wider. "So kiss me then."

I lean forward and I kiss her. All around us, the other campers are singing and roasting marshmallows but in my head, they may as well not be there. All I know is the look in her brown eyes right before they closed to kiss me, the way her hands feel in my hair, pulling me closer, and the simple _sureness_ of it all. The knowing that nothing, _nothing_, can take away this breathless, dizzying moment.

I know where I belong. I know it is here, with these campers, this family. And this girl. I don't know what is to come. I don't know how this imminent war will play out, who will win, who will lose. I don't know if I will be here a year from now or even a week from now. All I know is that none of it matters. I can start afresh, a new kid, a new life and a new love. I know that there is nothing more that I want now than to keep kissing this amazing girl – the girl who saved my life and never questioned who I was – who makes me feel grounded.

I can finally be the man I want to be. I have someone who will stand by my side as I find myself. What more would I want? This is my story, and I am about to start living it.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: It would take more words than I have to relive the battle between the Titan and Olympain armies, though it's something I would love to do perhaps in the future. In ****_The Last Olympian_****, we see Chris as a fully established member of Camp which is a just enough ending, I think. His story could go on forever but I think now is the time for me to put a pin in it and let him live his own life (I know he's not real, shh).**

**It's been amazing writing this fic. It's the biggest thing I have ever taken on and of you read this from the beginning until end, thanks so much. To everyone that left positive reviews and sent such nice feedback, you're all so awesome.**

**Thanks for reading this story. I hope you liked reading it as much I liked writing it. **


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